Phantom of the Opera 1. The Arrival

**Chapter One:** The Arrival

Running.

It was becoming a common thing in his life: the seeking of shelter and safety. It was that and more that had him begin his travels again, seeking to be as far as possible from the land of sand and heat, of false promises, as well as cloak and dagger. Should it be any surprise that he had sought out the sea on a nameless ship that would take him to the Orient? It was there that he had attempted to live normally, as a human and not some bit of sideshow entertainment.

Normal, ha!

Examples of his commissions passed from hand to hand, appearing in some of the most out-of-the-way places.

With a heavy leather satchel over his shoulder, a cloak shrouding his form, and a cowl over his head, he stood out even in the light sprinkling of rain before the expansive manor, his eccentric, bi-colored eyes slowly passing along the rooftop and walls. Shifting the pack against a deceptively thin shoulder, he passed through the open gates and beneath the awning, which protected him from the stinging droplets. Lifting and curling spidery fingers, he struck a rapport against the frame of the door, hoping it was loud enough to catch the attention of those within.

If this was even the right home. His skill in this language left something to be desired.

"Anna!" The sharp call of the mistress rang through the house, and the small woman seated in the kitchen lifted her head from the balls of rice her fingers were carefully and nimbly forming. A silent sigh escaped her lips as she set her task down. The mistress was in a cross mood today; Anna Morris had no wish to add to her ire.

She got to her feet carefully, so as not to disturb the perfect folds of her gray linen kimono. With lowered head and her eyes on the floor, she hurried quietly to the front hallway, past numerous screened rooms, to where her mistress stood.

Kyomi Nio's eyes - hard, black obsidian almonds - passed over the younger woman with scorn. Anna kept her own gray eyes on the floor, knowing it was considered the height of rudeness to look one's superior in the eye unless invited to do so.

"Yes, Mistress?" The dour expression on the mistress' face did not bode well for her servant.

"The door, girl. Answer it! Master Kyomi's choice of architect is here."

But Anna did not move fast enough, and she received a sharp cuff to the ear as she passed her mistress. She did not cry out, or wince, knowing well the consequences of such actions: to show weakness was to show dishonor to the House of Kyomi. It was a risk that was never to be taken. With her ear red and stinging, she hurried to the door.

Within the drape of the cowl the man's head tipped slightly, and on hearing the voices from within, he drew his eyes up from his sopping boots to the door. The voices were faint, but they were there. Pursing his lips slightly, he stepped back from the door, giving plenty of room so he wouldn't end up crowding whoever opened it. Not long after the cry had come, the door slid open. He regarded the woman standing there with a lift of his brow, trying to conceal his surprise at seeing a Caucasian in Japan, where he had seen no others.

Inwardly shrugging it off, he dampened his lips and gave another shift of the pack. "I trust this is the House Kyomi?", he asked, his voice barely a brush of air, yet somehow… musical. Raising his chin, he glanced past her into the building, then drew his gaze to the woman's bowed head. _Curious..._, he thought. For a moment it reminded him of the harem he had the displeasure to be around.

All she could see were his boots: worn black leather, slick with rain. The hems of his trousers were also damp, and clinging to his ankles. He appeared to be thoroughly soaked.

The sound of such a voice as he inquired the name of the house - , resonant, melodic, and so surprising to hear in such gray, ordinary surroundings - momentarily jolted her from her ingrained submissiveness. She raised her head without thinking and met the man's eyes.

He wore a mask.

Oval-shaped and black, it covered his face from the hairline to the upper-  
lip, leaving only his chin and bottom lip visible. Mismatched eyes stared back at her, hard and cold, one pale gold, almost cat-like, the other a vivid blue-green. He stared at her without blinking.

_Ah, that is much better._ He was never one to sit there and look at the top of someone's head. It was difficult to read a person that way.

Now he read her well.

The glistening of her gray eyes, the way they widened - why, he hadn't done more than appear and speak one line and already she was terrified of him. Had his reputation preceded him? Surely this family couldn't know of his activities in Persia?

A chill of unease swept through the woman, and she lowered her head quickly. Swallowing her fear, she gave a soft nod and stepped back and to one side, every move precise and careful, as she had been taught. She clasped her hands in front of her, eyes upon the floor, not daring to look at him again.

"You are late." Mistress Kyomi's voice was like steel.

Anna kept silent, her eyes trained upon the hardwood floor beneath her bare feet. She knew she might be punished severely later for having looked so boldly at the stranger.

He shook his head faintly, pressing his lips thin when she dropped her gaze. Loosening his clenched hand upon the satchel's strap, he allowed a pregnant pause. He knew the Japanese had a custom about removing ones shoes, but was that outside, or only inside? He was sure he would be 'corrected' once he stepped inside, and he did so, passing by Anna with a decidedly predatory grace, only to stop short when the woman's voice cut the air.

His thin lips twitched subtly, and the cowl turned just enough to capture the woman within his line of sight.

"Forgive my impertinence," he managed with slightly broken yet still flowing Japanese. His tone dripped venom, so caustic it should have burned his lips. He took a slow breath, reminding himself that he was the 'subordinate' here, something which didn't sit well with him in the least. Raising his free hand he drew the hood back from his bald pate. While he hadn't agreed with the need to shave his head upon the ship, it was better than having a head full of lice.

Anna stood in her place by the door, not daring to raise her eyes again to the stranger. She felt her eyes widen at the man's cold, arrogant words to Mistress Kyomi. What was he thinking? Didn't he realize that to show disrespect was to show dishonor? He was an architect; Mistress had said as much. He was to be a _paid servant_ to the Master. He would be _Anna's _superior by far, but he was to be under the Master and the Mistress. He would surely be turned away now for his impudence. She waited for the mistress to speak the words.

Out of the corner of her eye he stood, a long shadow in unrelieved black, his bare head was the only coloring upon his form. Why did he feel the need to wear the color of death? She knew well that only the lowliest servants were forbidden to wear colors. Her own gray kimono was one of many, all identical except for one or two suitable for formal occasions.

He did not move and he did not speak. And he did not remove his shoes. His impertinence would not be tolerated, Anna was certain.

Listlessly letting the soaked cloth settle against the back of his neck, he gave a backwards roll of his shoulders, attempting to get rid of the defensive tension that had suddenly found its way into the sleek muscle. Stepping back, he lowered the pack to the ground. With an easy toe-heel motion, he drew the loose boots free and nudged them aside near the door.

_People and their bloody customs. _He had a new set to learn, and he just _knew_ he wasn't going to agree with a lot of them. If there was one thing he had learned in that damnable land of dunes, it was to try to hold his tongue and tolerate it. Patience. Patience was what he needed.

Effortlessly lifting the heavy satchel to his shoulder, he approached the hard-eyed woman, bowing his head subtly with a firm set of his jaw. "I'll not offer excuses. If it is your will to bid to your husband to seek out another architect, then so be it. Though I assure you -," _Damn it, Erik! Patience!_ At least he'd kept the heavy sarcasm from his voice. So far. "- No other will be found to fulfill his requests as adequately and as swiftly as I." If one knew they could surpass others, it was only natural for them to be vain. He was, however, merely speaking the truth.

Nio's mouth tightened at the impudence of this louse, but she kept her peace. Her husband would not be pleased if she sent this creature away. He had been specifically recommended and requested. Dakuro would be furious if he was to lose such a highly sought-after architect. It had taken _months_ to locate the elusive creature. Her husband was fearsome in his anger and she avoided rousing it in him. It would not be wise to do so now.

"Very well. You will stay." She straightened, smoothing her hands over her red silk kimono. "Before you meet my husband, however, you will change and make yourself presentable. Tea will be in half an hour. I would respectfully suggest you not repeat your error of this afternoon and arrive late." There was little of 'respect' in her tone.

Nio turned a harsh eye on the silent woman by the door. Anna's head was bowed, her shoulders down as Nio had taught her, her hair caught back in the tight, low bun of a servant. Anna's eyes were on the floor now, but only a moment ago they had been upon the stranger. Nio would take her to task for that later. For now, she had more orders.

"Anna, you will show Master Erik to his room and make him comfortable. Tea, in one half hour, with sweets."

The girl nodded slightly, her eyes still upon the floor. "Yes, Mistress."

With that, Nio nodded sharply and glided away to find her husband. Anna moved from her post by the door and approached him, twisting her hands together, her mouth dry from her fear of this stranger. "You will follow me, Master?"

_Women! _he snarled inwardly. _Why must it always be bloody women that make my life miserable?_ The smile that crossed his lips didn't reach the cat- like glint of his dual-colored eyes. He dipped his sculpted chin again, then turned his head to look over toward the servant. No, not toward, _through_.

"Mm. Yes, of course." He approached Anna with a few short strides; a boneless grace made his black-shrouded frame almost float over the wooden slats. He gestured elegantly with one pale hand for her to walk, then tucked the hand beneath the voluminous folds of ebony. Anna swallowed at his smooth, fluid movement, dreading the moments ahead, alone with this frightening man. She turned and led him quietly down the long hallway, passing by the rice paper screens on either side of them. He followed behind. He moved so silently she couldn't even hear his footsteps. She was aware only of a pair of eyes boring into the back of her head. She found it hard to breathe. The sash bound about her rib cage beneath her breasts suddenly felt too tight, constrictive. Her heart pounded in her ears. If only she could hear him and know that it was indeed a man behind her and not some ghost! This man, this Erik, would remain under the Kyomi roof. He would be her master, second only to the family.

Her life here was peaceful, regardless of her harsh treatment and long hours spent deep into the night cleaning and mending. She felt safe here. This had been her home, the only place she'd known, since the age nine when her parents had died on holiday here in Japan. But now that idyllic peace had been shattered. This disconcerting man would share her home, her life.

She didn't like change.


	2. Insolence

**Chapter Two:** Insolence

Years of skulking around had taught him the art of obfuscation; he walked with a hunter's heel-to-toe step, keeping his weight balanced, his light steps almost unnoticeable. Why, someone had even told him once that he could walk across snow leaving no telltale prints in his wake. He had never attempted to judge the truth in that statement.

Just as easily as his temper had roused, leaving a stoic calm. Silently, he regarded the diminutive woman, wondering just how she could tolerate that bitch of a mistress. Perhaps it was simply her lot in life; she certainly seemed accustomed to it. The corner of his mouth lifted briefly in disgust - and not for the unfortunate woman before him.

Dragging his attention from her, he looked upon the screens they passed, pulling his head back slightly with unveiled distaste. Privacy could never be had with such doors and thin walls. He had no doubt he would easily accustom himself to the change, however; there had been a time in his life when he couldn't so much as breathe without someone watching him. While he was in no particular hurry, he was anxious to reach his room, curious as to what it would look like. And just how he could change it to suit his tastes.

Anna was somewhat surprised to arrive at the door to Master Erik's room still in one piece. Casting a glance over one shoulder, she once again met his eyes. She turned away quickly as his lips tightened, a _frisson_ of unease racing up her spine at his reptitilian gaze. With the careful, precise grace that had been caned into her, she sunk to her knees before the door, bowing, then very slowly slid the screen open to reveal the large room beyond. Slipping one hand inside, she continued sliding the panel, stretching her small body lithely until the wood frame of the screen gave a soft click as it slid fully home. She bowed once more to the room, then sidled gracefully over and bowed to the dark, tall looming shadow.

"Your room, Master." She spoke softly, her eyes trained upon the wooden floor beneath her knees, wondering if he could possibly hear the rapid tattoo of her heart. She turned around swiftly enough, cutting off any words he might have been going to speak.

Erik had watched her bowing with detached interest. He missed very little - even her elevated breathing had caught his attention. With a wry twist of his lips, he stepped inside. Dropping the heavy pack to the ground, he stepped further into the room, taking in the simple surroundings. It was a vivid change for him - from extravagant to subtle - and one he was attempting to easily accept.

"Does anyone around here speak bloody _English_," he stated flatly, still within the lilting tongue of Japanese. "French? German perhaps?" Though she hadn't done a thing, irritation lingered in the very timbre of his words. Breathing out a sigh, he lifted a hand to smooth his palm over his scalp. After a moment, he spoke again, a bit more civil this time. "A bath...? I dare say I need one." It didn't suit him well at all to be standing there in soaked clothing. Normally fastidious, he could only imagine how he might smell to others. From ship, to cart to here... he hadn't had a chance to properly scrub his skin.

Anna dared to look up at him as he ran a hand over his smoothly shaved scalp. He did _indeed_ need a bath. She could smell him, though she would never have dared say so: the odor of an unwashed man; sweat, and something else that always seemed to linger about an unclean male. It was an entirely unpleasant scent, one that would have made her nose wrinkle in disgust, if it weren't for the obedience so deeply ingrained. He also looked worn, his long body tense. Though her fear of him had not diminished in the least, she knew all too well the sensation of being in an unfamiliar country, unable to speak the language and ill at ease, even frightened.

She rose slowly to her feet, lowering her eyes once more to her hands, work-reddened fingertips digging into her palms. "I speak English, Master," she whispered in her native tongue. It was an almost physical relief to hear the clipped British tones issue from her mouth - she'd worried she'd forgotten how. She had not formed so much as a single word in English word for nearly _fifteen_ years - had, in fact, been whipped severely for speaking even to herself in anything but Japanese. She moved further into the room and opened another set of screens with the same ritual as before, revealing reveal a sunken bath.

As she spoke in English, he lifted his head, glancing back over toward her with a rather amiable smile. "Good. Though I can wager a guess that you might be beaten for such an infraction, no?" Though she couldn't see his lifted brow, his melodic tone conveyed his curiosity. He followed her carefully as she trekked her way across the room and to the next set of screens.

He deftly shrugged off the sodden cloak, draping it over his pack. No longer hidden by the cloak, his garments presented a vivid contrast. No longer the color of death, the silk that shrouded him was undoubtedly of Persian make: blood red, gold, black and dashes of royal blue covered every fold of cloth on his incredibly lithe form. Lacing his fingers together and bringing his hands above his head, he stretched cat-like and expelled a pent breath. The sight of the basin alone was enough to dispel a bit of his discomfort.

Though she found the sight of him almost entrancing, the sigh he gave as he stretched was a uncomfortably intimate gesture and she lowered her eyes at once to the floor. "I will bring you heated water, Master. Will you require any particular soaps or oils during and after your bath?" She waited, hoping that he would not request her assistance in bathing as Master Kito, Master Kyomi's eldest son did at times. She felt distinctly uncomfortable and nervous in such a situation. Her youngest Master was a bullyish and often deliberately cruel young man.

Nio's words came back to Erik suddenly. _'You will change and make yourself presentable.'_ Just who did she think she was? Lips twisting in sudden irritation, he almost missed Anna's words, and he had to backtrack to gather the sense of them. "Ah, yes. The finest you have will be suitable. And do hurry. A half an hour is hardly enough time." Pausing a moment as he glanced to his laid out robe, he crossed his arms over his slender waist and shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncharacteristically unsure. "Just what, pray tell, is 'presentable?'" Guessing the clothing he'd brought wouldn't be, he turned to Anna again, his vivid gaze alive with curiosity.

She warily met his mismatched eyes, more than a little shocked that he would repeat back the Mistress' words with such disrespect. "A kimono would be acceptable and expected of you, Master. Do you have one available?"

Amusement crossed the visible portions of his face as he shook his head. "No. I cannot say that I have been in Japan long enough to acquire such a thing." Though he thought he might have something like it… He glanced to his bag again, then shook his head again. Anything that had been packed in there for that length of time would hardly count as 'presentable' in anyone's estimation. "I trust there is one available?"

She nodded and moved to the door, reaching out to wrap one hand about the screen, then turned back to him, poised just outside the doorway. "It may be a bit short for you, Master. But I will retrieve it and your hot water." She bowed low to him and turned to leave, then turned back, biting her lower lip. "You will not need my...assistance will you, Master?" She prayed he would answer in the negative.

_Short is fine. I'm sure slacks can be worn beneath a kimono. Can't they?_ He raised a brow as he approached the basin, then stopped abruptly, stiffening, at her question. A_ssistance! _"No. That will not be necessary," he stated curtly, his beautiful voice gone cold in an instant. "Now hurry."

She bowed as quickly as she could and rushed from the room. Moments later she returned, both of her arms laden with buckets of steaming water. Even with the vessels filled to the brim, her movements were so graceful and careful that not one drop of water was spilled upon the floor, an appearance of ease that had taken _months_ to learn and perfect. She had the kimono draped over her shoulders. Kneeling by the sunken basin, she set the heavy buckets down, arms trembling visibly with the strain. Brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes, she poured both buckets of water into the smooth porcelain bath, raising clouds of steam rising, flushing her face. From her sleeves she pulled a wrapped bar of fine rice soap, scented with sage and citrus - a masculine scent - and a bottle of oil to soothe his sore muscles after such long and arduous travel. She stood quickly and bowed to him once more. She judged she would need at least two more buckets of hot water before the basin would be filled.

_Assistance, indeed._ By the way she was trembling beneath the weight of his eyes, he judged she'd probably end up fainting if she had to help him bathe. He exhaled thoughtfully as she scurried back out of the room, then crossed the room to his pack. Dragging it across the floor, he picked up the soaked robe and draped it over his thighs. Loosening the thongs holding the leather closed, he searched for only a moment before removing a set of scroll cases, placing them off to his left. Carefully dragging out a carved box and setting it to his right, he continued looking for his stylus. She returned almost at once, and he paused in his search, almost instinctively observing her again. A part of him wanted to get up and help - those buckets combined looked to weigh as much as she did - but he stomped that sliver of compassion down, replacing it with cold indifference and said nothing.

She poured the water into the basin, then stood, pushing away the pain in her pulsing arms as she straightened her grey kimono. She sighed inwardly with exhaustion, looking forward to the end of the long day. She clasped her hands in front of her and addressed him respectfully. "Your bath is ready, Master. I will leave you now. I am to inform you that you have twenty minutes in which to bathe and dress." She felt a small surge of fear at his possible reaction to such an order from her mistress. He did not seem to possess much respect for the Kyomi's authority. She did not linger. As it was, she had only that same twenty minutes in which to hurriedly to prepare the tea room and the sweets. The taking of tea with a guest was sacred. If she were to serve it late, or incorrectly, she would receive no food: a missed meal for each mistake made. She was anxious to return to her duties and anxious to avoid punishment.

"Twenty minutes," he mumbled beneath his breath. That wasn't enough time for him to soak as he would like, though he supposed a quick scrubbing would have to do. Removing the stylus from the pack and placing it with the scroll cases, he picked up the box, flipping the latches to open the lid. After a brief check over the elaborately designed pipe, he closed the box and returned it to the pack. He glanced impassively he glanced to her, then lifted a hand, gesturing her to go. His only desire was to get warm and clean. Akin to liquid ink, he fluidly rose from his kneeling position and stepped closer to the basin to stand along its side, waiting for the door to close behind her.

Releasing a shuddering breath, Anna murmured a Catholic prayer that had not crossed her lips in many years, and hurried away to the kitchens.


	3. Tea and Sympathy

**Chapter Three:** Tea and Sympathy

He had half a mind to indulge in his pipe before he went for the tea and subsequent conversation with the Master of the house - just so he could relax - but there was hardly any time. Also, if he wished to get all the information the man might impart upon him, it wouldn't be suitable for opium to be clouding his mind. With five minutes to spare, he left the tub and dried off, then donned the kimono. He slipped a fine pair of silken trousers on beneath it and, ensuring that his mask was securely in place, he made his way to the tea room. Finding some solace in the silence, he lowered himself to sit cross-legged, his feet almost uncomfortably propped against his thighs, waiting.

Twenty minutes later, she knelt outside the door to the tea room, the tray containing the small black iron tea pot, tiny bowl-like cups, and a plate of sweets before her. Before making any move, she breathed deeply, evenly, composing herself, wiping her mind blank. Focus was the key to the tea ceremony. She bowed to the door, aware that the mistress was most likely listening. She sat up and knocked twice, softly. Dakuro called shortly, "Enter". She took breath and slipped into the familiar trance-like ritual, sliding the screen open, each turn of her wrists slow and precise.

She bowed to the occupants of the room, then picked up the tray with both hands, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. With slow, careful steps she approached the alcove set into the wall, holding a vase containing a single lily. She knelt carefully, placing the tray down, and bowed low to the flower, then sat up once more and carried the tray slowly to the four waiting: Master and Mistress Kyomi, Master Kito, and Master Erik. As she very carefully served the tea her skin crawled, aware of Master Kito's insolent stare upon her. Her concentration broke as her emotions intruded upon the ceremony and her hand slipped, spilling a tiny bit of tea onto Master Erik's hand. The color fled her face and she cried out softly in dismay.

He reacted faster than the strike of a cobra to the heat of the tea on his hand. Until then he had been happily ignoring the others. Now, his fingers curled swiftly about her wrist, holding it tight as his head turned to regard her steadily. She gasped in shock at the touch of his icy fingers clutching her wrist in a vice-like grip. Her eyes flew to his, startled grey meeting fathomless gold and blue-green. They stared at each other for a brief moment, neither of them moving, until he jerked away from her gently and wiped the drop of tea from his pale skin. She was visibly shaking - shocked by the death-like touch.

_Does the man have ice water running through his veins? _She shuddered again. The look in his eyes and his sudden tensing had disconcerted her. He had acted as if she had burned him – and, glancing down, she realized that she had: a small patch of reddened skin glared up as proof. Belatedly it hit her that she had made a fatal mistake - spilling tea upon a guest was unforgivable. She cringed, anticipating a swift punishment. She didn't have long to wait.

Master Kito rose swiftly to his feet, locking his hand about her upper arm with bruising force. "Stupid girl!", he spat scornfully in her face. He turned to his parents. "I have no need to be involved in your discussion, Mother and Father. I will return shortly. Shall I lock her in her room?" His eyes shone as he increased the pressure on her arm. Anna winced, but held back her whimper of pain, knowing it would only earn her a harsher punishment. "Yes," Dakuro ordered. "No dinner. Punish her as you see fit." Kito nodded, and gave Anna a cruel smile. He jerked her roughly, dragging her towards the door.

Erik's gaze snapped toward the young man, unaware of the clenching of his own fingers, digging so sharply into his palms that his knuckles whitened. "Leave. The girl. Be," he growled, his eyes settled upon the young man with a burning intensity. His voice was tightly controlled but vibrated with a rage that was impossible to miss. His eyes burned into Master Kito's, whose grip on the girl lessened. "If anyone is to punish her, it shall be I," he added directly after, reminding himself - for the umpteenth time - that there were particular customs that had to be followed. It was only a minor thing, not even a true burn, and they were so swift to starve a woman and punish her even further? _Appalling..._ Tearing his eyes from the son, he glanced toward the parents with obvious, barely bridled fury.

As Kito froze, Anna's head jerked up and she stared aghast at Master Erik, uncomprehending. She looked toward her younger master and saw the blood drain from his visage. Her eyes flew next to Master and Mistress Kyomi, who were staring at their dinner guest in open-mouthed amazement. They could not deny his request. He had, in a roundabout manner, _honored_ them by offering to punish a servant for an insult against the household. Anna had no choice but to submit to his hands. _He_ would punish her.

Master Kyomi nodded to his guest, then curtly ordered his son to release the girl. Kito shoved her roughly from him and left the room, his fists clenched tightly. In a tight voice, Master Kyomi ordered her to wait in her room. She did not have to be told twice. Holding her bruised arms, she rushed away, leaving the remaining occupants of the tea room to discuss their business as if nothing had occurred.

Relaxing deliberately, Erik picked up the delicate cup and tipped it to his lips to dampen them and his seemingly dried tongue. It wasn't until Dakuro began speaking business that his temper finally tapered down, giving him something to focus upon beyond the harsh treatment of the innocent woman. The task for which he'd been summoned would be easy enough, though the design process would take some getting used to - the buildings here were quite different from those anywhere else he had been. With enough observation and an intense study of the surrounding buildings and land, he was sure he would be able to come up with a suitable plan.

Speaking only when necessary, he gathered the information he needed: who he would be working with, how many men were in the crew, and how soon he was supposed to begin. Once it seemed as if they had reached a lull, he politely excused himself, secretly reducing the number of sweets on the tray as he rose, secreting them among the folds of his kimono. He paused a moment to speak on his way out. "I would like the girl sent to my chambers immediately." With that, he made his way to his room to begin upon the plans.

In her tiny room, huddled upon her small bed, Anna waited fearfully for the summons, dreading what was to come. She had come to expect harsh, even cruel treatment, for the smallest infraction, and her mind turned agonizingly to the possible punishment for her gross misstep. She was shaken out of her dark imaginings by Mistress Kito, staring down at her, hard-eyed as always. "Get yourself to his rooms immediately. I do not know what will be asked of you, but you _do it_, girl. Do you understand me? This man will make your master a very wealthy man. You are to obey him in all things." Anna nodded, swallowing, her pulse fluttering wildly once more as she stood shakily and made her way to his room as quickly as possible. She knelt before the door and knocked softly.

Erik had taken the opportunity to change out of the borrowed kimono into one of his flowing Persian robes. While the borrowed clothing was comfortable, he was simply more used to the silken robe, it being cut more to his body type. Hearing her knock, he glanced briefly to the door before lowering his eyes again to the sprawled parchment. "Enter." Sketching the first of his ideas with a bit of charcoal, his hand traveled over the parchment in brief strokes, catching here and there to add a bit more detail before moving on to the next section. Shifting the piece in his hand, he ignored the powdery black stain it left on his fingers, making his skin look even more pale than before.

Anna opened the screen with trepidation, moving more slowly than before. He did not look at her as she approached, but continued sketching, his hand moving deftly over the paper, a building of some kind taking shape. She waited in silence as he worked, the only sound in the room her rapid breathing, his deeper, slower breaths, and the scratch of the charcoal across the parchment. She trembled as she waited and waited for him to look up at her, to stand and move to her and take his hand to her. But he only sketched and breathed.

_Sketched _and _breathed_.

Finally she could take it no more. She dropped to her knees before him. "If you mean to punish me, then do it and be done with it! Your silence and lack of action is perhaps worse than Kito's promise of violence!" Her voice cracked and she hiccuped back a sob, pressing a hand to her mouth in horror.

He did not react at all to her sudden rant, not even to glance up. Fully enthralled by his artistic muse, he continued sketching, drawing out the outside of the first of many buildings for another full five or ten minutes. At last resting the sliver of charcoal aside, he picked up the parchment, staining the corner with a thumb print as he carefully blew off the excess dust. Raising it to the light he pressed his lips thin, then promptly crumpled the paper, tossing it over his shoulder where it tumbled and thumped into the pillow of his bedroll. He drew a fresh sheet from the case and, weighing it down, he propped his elbows on the table, his chin resting casually upon laced fingers as he looked at last at her. "If you so wish to be beaten by that insufferable child, then by all means, go. If not, I advise you to lower your voice and control your temper." His lips twitched. _You, the man who has beaten another for a tiny mistake in plans.. telling someone else to control their temper... How amusing._

Her eyes stuttered up to his, then away. "You," she asked softly, her voice still broken up, "You do not mean… to beat me?"

"No." He paused, hairless head tipping faintly to the side. "Would you like me to?" It was refreshing to see that she wasn't completely beaten into submission. He had almost began to believe that she was nothing but a mindless, whimpering drone. Raising his chin, he lifted from his hunched position, eyes closing as a resounding series of cracks traveled up the length of his spine. Sighing heavily, he shook his head took up the charcoal pencil again. "Help yourself to pastries." Raising his free hand, he flicked a gesture to the wrapped cloth a foot or two from his side. "They are yours. Or I can simply toss them out to the dogs. They have dogs here, do they not? Perhaps not. They much more enjoy beating a woman for a spot of spilled tea." The last was mumbled more to himself, with obvious disgust.

She stared up into his hard, cold eyes and blinked back the tears that had pooled there. Washed in shame for her outburst, her cheeks burned. She had spoken to him with unpardonable rudeness, an act which surely should have earned her a fierce beating – but he had instead reprimanded her masters for their treatment of her. No other guest would have dared make statements so audacious. In this land, in this culture, she was no better than a dog. Her eyes turned to the bundle lying at his side. She had not eaten since early yesterday. Greedily, she snatched them up and clutched them to her. _Why has he done this?_ She was nothing to him. Finally she raised her eyes to his. "Th...thank you, Master." She bowed low to him.

"Do not call me that," he stated sharply, suddenly getting tired of hearing the word 'Master.' One thin finger lowered and the tip tapped repeatedly against the harsh wood of the table. "Here, you will accord me the respect of calling me Erik, or nothing at all. And do not bow your head. If I wished to see the top of your head I would simply stand up." He knew he was shattering customs, and didn't give it a second thought. Languidly lacing his fingers together again, he rested the smooth curve of chin rested on them. Falling silent again, he studied her intently, shaking his head softly. _It just is not right._

Anna lifted her head and sat up slowly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. His stare was almost hypnotic, like that of a snake, and for an endless moment she was caught. With effort, she broke the contact, lowering her eyes once more. "I will call you Erik. And if you do not wish me to bow, I shall not, Ma-... _Erik._" She licked her bottom lip, her mouth suddenly dry. "But I cannot do so in the presence of my masters. I will leave you now." She rose abruptly to her feet, caught herself before bowing, and simply nodded. His voice stopped her at the door.

"Anna," he called soothingly, "Come here." Sliding his elbows from the table, he gathered his pack again and shuffled through it. He pressed the box beneath the table, to indulge in later. A simple white-labeled vial clasped in the serpentine coil of his fingers, he turned towards her.

She obeyed him without question. Not merely because he was her master, but because it was impossible to deny his compelling order. Hesitantly, she stepped back across the room, raising her eyes to his. "Yes, Erik?"

"Pray tell, just what would you say to your… _Masters,_" he spat disdainfully. "When you are asked of your punishment? Especially when you show no marks." His brow rose, unseen behind the mask. Shifting the vial between his fingers, causing the clear liquid to lightly slosh, he eased the cork cap from the neck of the bottle. "And I do believe that it would be best if you remained here to eat. There is no telling if, and when, they will decide to check upon you."

She glanced down at the bundle in her hands, trying to imagine what would happen should any of the masters, especially Kito, barge into her room and find her eating the stolen sweets. She shuddered visibly at the thought. Erik was all too correct. Though the thought of eating in front of a man, an intimate act, was uncomfortable, the gnawing pain in her belly would not let her wait any longer or she would be ill. Thanking him softly, she sank to her knees and opened the cloth. The aroma of the pastries made her mouth water, and she waited only a moment before picking one up delicately and taking a tiny bite from it, all too conscious of his eyes on her. After the first bite, she began to devour the sweets – normally forbidden to her.

He tipped the vial, pouring a few drops of its contents into his palm, and deftly re-corked it. Cleaning his hands quickly with the turpentine-like liquid, he wiped his hands with a bit of cloth, then returned the vial to his pack.

He ignored her thanks, but glanced briefly in her direction before returning to his sketching. "Before you leave, pinch your right cheek repeatedly, even if it hurts. Do so over a good portion of the area." Propping an elbow against the table, he braced his brow against his palm as his other hand skimmed effortlessly across the page, bringing another image to life.

She paused in devouring the pastries and glanced up at him, swallowing. "I will do so. They will believe you have struck me." She snatched up the last morsel of food and placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly, savoring what would surely the be the last taste of such good food for many months. The scratch of the charcoal drew her. As a child, she had loved to draw. The desire to see his sketching at last overcame her common sense, and she rose slowly to her feet. Moving cautiously, she came to his side and peered over his shoulder at his sketch.

He was unaware of her approach, being completely engrossed by his drawing. Pausing only now and again to check his progress, he shifted the pencil between his fingers and tapped it against his teeth in thought. The base of the building was the easy portion; it was the roof that proved to be unique. The tiles reminded him of the scales of a dragon - fitting, for he often heard of the love the Japanese had for such mystical creatures.

Lazily lidding his eyes, he began scripting out the frame of the roof, blurring the line with the tip of his pinky, then began again on another portion. His hand came to an abrupt stop as his thoughtful haze was shattered by the sense of someone intruding on his space. With a shift of his head, he glanced at her discreetly from the corner of his eyes and pressed his lips thin.

She was entirely too close to him.


	4. First Contact

**Chapter Four**: First Contact

Her lips parted in wonder at the building taking shape upon the paper. She watched, entranced as his pinky moved gracefully over the sketch, blurring the lines, creating smooth, flowing curves. The detail was incredible, as if the page might come alive any minute. Her eyes followed the tiles as they swooped outward, forming the scooped gutters of a traditional Japanese dwelling. She leaned closer, exhaling softly as she pondered what colors he might use, her interest and imagination fully caught up. She personally would have made the roof a earthy red.

Erik's mild irritation steadily declined as he became aware of her interest in the picture. He dropped his eyes back to the parchment and, with a slow breath, did his best to ignore her proximity. He set his head back into his palm, the heel of his hand resting along the edge of the silk-covered mask of papier-mache. Finding the thumping line of a vein, glistening blue-green beneath the thin, nearly transparent flesh, he smoothed his finger against it while his other hand began moving over the parchment again.

For now there were only different shades of black making up what was becoming an elaborate design. The tiles more resembled dragon scales than the cylindrical concave lengths of clay that made up the roof of the home he was in now, tear shaped and snuggly fitted. Cupping the charcoal in his palm, he used the edge of his pinky to dust away the finer edges and deeper lines of black, spreading the haze along the whiter portions until he believed he was finished. Time was nothing to him - it might have been ten minutes or an hour by time he set the pencil aside. "Well..?", he questioned gently, finally glancing sideways to her.

Her eyes locked upon the beautiful building that his elegant hands had created, she sighed softly in appreciation. Unconsciously, still lost in the visual rhythm that his fingers had created on the page, she laid her palm along his back. It was a good thing he wasn't holding the pencil - otherwise it would have snapped in his hand the moment she touched him, seeming to burn his flesh through the cool silk. Unaware, she leaned in closer to catch the detail of the dragon scales. How amazing and intricate he made things! She was fascinated. "It's beautiful," she sighed close to his ear.

Tensing sharply as her breath gusted past the shell of his ear and jaw, he rose swiftly - nearly flipping over the table in the process - and took a few hasty, stiff steps away from her. Crossing an arm over his slender waist, he propped the opposite elbow within the palm, his other hand clasped loosely at the base of his throat, against the rapid thump of his pulse. Managing to repress a shudder, he stared over toward the bath. "That needs to be emptied," he mentioned blankly within a low murmur.

She'd stumbled back as he nearly knocked her over in his attempt to get away from her. Retreating clumsily to the corner of the room, she stared at him, aghast, cursing her thoughtlessness. _Is my lowly presence so offensive to him?_ Shocked and humiliated at the fact that she had touched him - a grave insult - she felt the sting of hot tears pushing at the backs of her eyes. She lowered them quickly, hoping he had not seen, and swallowed, her pulse pounding in her ears. She was as disgusted with herself as he appeared to be. The moment of easy... _something_... was gone and he was once again the master, reminding her of her place. The basin needed to be emptied, the water now cold and cloudy from his bathing. Without speaking, blinking rapidly, she rushed to tend to it.

Closing his eyes, he pulled in a slow breath, attempting to tame the harshness of his breath, as well as the fluttering rhythm of his heart. Cracking them open again , he glanced over toward her as she began emptying the bath. So tense was he that his shoulders and lower back burned, aching with the strength of his statuesque posture. It was but a touch, a simple innocent touch, and yet he reacted as if she poured a whole pot of boiling tea upon his lap. Something _disgusting _had been awakened back within that heated land - something he didn't like, that attempted to rear its ugly head with her closeness. Wetting his lips, he turned around to approach the table again. Taking up the stylus from the floor he replaced it on the table and lowered himself, attempting to regain the comfort he had abruptly lost. Smoothing the edges of the parchment, he glanced over the sketch, finally nodding slightly in satisfaction. This one he would keep.

With shaking hands, she hefted the full buckets and hurried outside to empty them. The cool night air hit her flushed face, and she leaned against the side of the manor, taking trembling breaths. And then it came, quietly, whispering insidiously through her brain. She _hated _living here. She _hated_ her masters. She _hated_ her parents for dying and leaving her here to be nothing more than a slave, a charity case! She was no more than a pack beast, as the strange masked man's actions had reminded her. She was so low she was not even accorded the right to casually touch another. She stood there, trembling with anger and indignity, until at last the crisp breeze cleansed her lungs and her mind, bringing acceptance. This was her lot in life. She had no choice but to accept. She returned to his rooms carrying the empty buckets with her.

Ensuring that the dust was off of the drawing so it wouldn't smudge more than he had purposely done, he lifted it from the table, letting it roll on its own. Carefully easing it into one of the empty scroll cases, he laid it aside and propped his elbows against the table, dropping his face into his palm. He slowly passed his hands along the silken mask, glad that he wore the black one, for the white would surely have streaks of charcoal upon it. He needed to relax before his shoulders split from the tension.

New land, new people. He only hoped that things would be different here. Hoped - but knew that it was useless. Tucking his hand beneath the table, he slid the thin box closer, flipping the latches and opening the lid. Smoothing his fingertips against the carved side of the pipe, he removed it from the velvet hollow and balanced it precaiously on his thigh.

Anna stepped carefully and quietly back into the room, taking care not to look upon him. She knelt and filled the buckets silently. She sighed with relief as the last of the cloudy water was swallowed by the bucket, then stood once more, and turned to go. Stopping with a soft _oh_ of remembrance she set the buckets down, and reached up a small hand to viciously pinch her right cheek, then again, and yet again, the smooth skin was a throbbing and angry red. By morning, with luck, it would be a vicious-looking bruise, to all appearances proof that Erik had struck her hard upon the face. She bent once more and lifted the heavy buckets. She did not look at him, but kept her head bowed. "Goodnight, Mas-- _Erik_," she whispered softly and hurried away, water sloshing as she went.

Inwardly pleased that she had remembered to mark her cheek, he opened the vial to tap out one of the sticky spheres, tucking back the two extra which fell into his hand. "Good night," he murmured absently, spreading the resin along the top of the pipe. He leaned back, glancing around for a candle, glowering at the tissue-covered lantern hanging near the middle of the room. How vexing - now he would have to delay his needed comfort while he figured out how to take the thing apart without ripping it. Undoubtedly it would be in shreds by morning.

Once in her small room, all of her chores finally completed, Anna finally relaxed, shoulders slumping, spine sagging as she passed a hand wearily over her face. It was nearing midnight, and she would be expected rise, dress and be hard at work in the kitchens by dawn, preparing the morning meal. Her body had grown used to little sleep, a fleeting four or five hours every night. At the end of everyday, she collapsed onto her tiny bed, almost certain that she would not wake the next morning and be able to face her chores with equanimity, but every morning, she somehow woke and made it through the day.

She undressed quickly in the chilly room, shedding her serviceable kimono and shrugging into a simple shift. She took her hair from the tight, low bun, and brushed it out until it hung, straight and heavy to her waist. She turned down the lamp and slipped into bed, and stared at the ceiling until the weariness of the day overcame her and she sunk into a dreamless sleep.

Erik stared at the paper lantern for a good five minutes before finally approaching. As he'd predicted, it took him only two minutes before one section was torn away, leaving a bar of brighter light. Tipping the stolen candle to the pipe's maw, he sighed with relief and drew the sweetly bitter smoke deep into his lungs. Almost instantaneously feeling the effects, he setthe candle carefully out of the way and lay back to enjoy the interesting sensation, a mixture of restlessness and lethargy.

Anna did not sleep long. Only an hour after seeking her bed, she was up once more, her sleep disturbed by the sound of soft music in the distance: a gentle strumming of strings, calling to her as it always did. Sometimes she wondered if Ryoko played it just for her. She liked to think so. Tossing a light robe about her shoulders and knotting the sash, she arranged her hair down over her shoulders and padded silently out of her room. Once outside she took off at a run, her bare feet moving swiftly over the dewy grass.

She was no more than a gray, brown and white shadow as she hurried to the arched doorway where Ryoko – an old, white haired woman – sat playing softly, the notes drifting into the still night air. Her unseeing milky eyes turned toward the sound of the young woman settling on a stool. Ryoko did not speak, but smiled and continued playing. Anna's eyes closed, every ounce of tension leaving her body, her face softening as she swayed softly to the notes.

Erik frowned languidly. It was quiet, far too quiet, save for the gentle strumming of music. As far as he knew no one in this area played a violin. Then again, why not? It was a beautiful instrument. He slid the screen open, leaving the stifling embrace of the room, and wandered the halls upon cat's feet. Perhaps the rice paper walls could speak to him of secrets, but no... what interested him more was the sound -- he swore it was coming from _outside_. The cool air would do him good. His spidery fingers drummed a faint rhythm on the paper walls to the sound of the music he had begun to believe was only within his hazed mind. Nevertheless, as he breached the threshold, with eyes closed and a song in his throat, he let the music lure him toward its source. Red and gold fluttered at his bare heels as he traveled over the dew-beaded emerald grass, each blade tickling against his sickly-pale flesh, subtly grabbing like tiny fingers. Everything felt different, more elaborate. He could sense the weight of the air, even believed he felt it upon the skin beneath the silk and hardened papier-mache. He didn't know the song, yet still he followed the gentle melody, the hum swelling in a reverberating caress. A quirk of a grin passed his lips as a tale came to mind. "Little rat you are this time, hmm..?", he murmured to himself, snickering faintly at the thought of meeting the Pied Piper.

Anna's gray eyes, dreamy with the pleasure of the old woman's playing fluttered open and she listened intently, as over the sound of the music rose another sound, possibly even more melodic. An angel's weeping could not have been more beautiful. It was resonant, carrying easily across the night air to touch her ears with its seductive caress. Incredibly sensual, stunning in its haunting beauty – she turned, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Erik walking towards them, his long, lithe body moving in the fluid, rhythm of the music with the unaffected grace of a large, sleek cat. His rich robe fluttered in the breeze. She found herself gazing at him, wondering at a voice of such unearthly beauty.

Erik didn't even feel the cold. Even had he not been within the dragon's claws he wouldn't have been able to feel it. The natural chill of his skin had some advantages. Swaying subtly, he let the music wash over him, shrouding him within a warm lyrical blanket that only he could feel. Comfort and protection came with each measure and strummed out scale. Lacing his fingers against the smooth skin at the back of his neck, he tipped his head down and absently dampened his lips, not breaking the hum that filled the air around him. The music was louder now, as if it was directly before him. He opened his eyes. "Oh, hello," he stated mildly, noticing distantly that one of the people sitting in front of him was the servant girl, Anna.

Anna's face flushed in the light of the fire. She knew she should not be here. If it was discovered that she slipped from the house at night, the punishment would be severe. She glanced at Erik, noting at once his cloudy, dream-shrouded gaze. Her brow furrowed. _Opium_. Nothing else could cause him to appear so languid and at ease. All day he had been rigid with tension, never even seeming comfortable – now he stood before them, long body stretched casually, hands behind his head, his eyes curiously warm rather than cold with disdain. She was certain he had smoked the sweet poppy seed spheres before coming here. And in the morning, he would inform the masters of her own misbehavior. She stood quickly, tossing her loose hair over her shoulder, and gave Ryoko a smile and a soft goodbye before moving away. She accidentally brushed Erik as she rushed past, gasping and moving away to give him a wide berth.

Erik watched her scurry about with curiosity. Tipping his head to the side, he snapped a hand out, taking a hold of her upper arm, just briefly enough to make her pause. "You do not have to go. Come, let us sit, listen. Perhaps I will tell a tale, or two." Lowering his hand he gestured to the ground before he sat, looking upon the white eyed woman. Blind? Squinting slightly, he grunted inwardly, berating himself for 'staring.' "Please, play something? Anything?" For a moment he almost sounded like a child. Beneath that, though, there was the underlying danger. Looking on Erik was like looking upon a panther carelessly resting in the sun, batting at a leaf. One wrong move, and jaws would lock on your bleeding jugular.

Ill at ease in the face of his deceptive languor, very much aware of the danger pulsed just beneath the surface, Anna moved cautiously back to her stool, avoiding his touch. She had seen too many opium users sink into the oblivion of their pipe, then turn nasty when the effects of the sweet smoke dissipated. Both Masters Kyomi and Kito indulged in the drug, and both men had been uncommonly kind and even mildly affectionate to her when in their opium-induced fog, only to snap from their ecstatic high without warning and catch her unguarded. She did not trust men who indulged in narcotics. They were dangerous. She sat stiffly upon her stool, holding her hair to one side and twisting its softness between her hands.

Curious as to the new voice here - a man, by the sound of it - the old woman turned her blind eyes in his direction. At his request, without hesitation she began plucking her fingers across the strings of the sitar-like instrument. The bit of metal around one small digit brought a gentle reverberation that Erik's voice mimicked perfectly as he began humming along. It was just a song she plucked out of the air, yet he continued as if he'd known it all this time. He had taken a lotus stance, his bare feet propped against the swirling colors of his robe at his thighs, hands clasped loosely against his knees. He swayed subtly, much akin to a serpent rising from its basket to the seductive urging of its charmer. Mere seconds passed before he closed his eyes, drifting upon the undulating tide of notes only he could see.

Unblinking, Anna stared into the fire, until small blue lights danced against the black of her eyelids. Erik's humming glided upon the air, filtering into her mind, wrapping insidiously about her senses like long, thin fingers. His voice, hauntingly beautiful, ensnared her. She swayed unconsciously in time with the notes, the sounds issuing from his throat painting a vivid picture upon the canvas of her mind. Colors bloomed to life, earth tones and forest tones that grew outward, until all she could see was the perfection that is nature. There was a tiny clearing in the garden at the back of the Kyomi's home, a patch of land with a circle of trees that surrounded a tiny pool fed by a delicate stream, a place where she often went to bathe and swim - and it was this scene that came alive in her mind. It was her place, her _only_ place of serenity, her refuge. She reached out a hand, her fingers stretching to wrap about a pebble at the pond. If she threw it just right, it would skip across the glassy surface.

In this world, images rippled, shuddering smoke upon the air, disturbed by the faintest of breezes. Everything was perfect, content. He had no worries of those crying out at him - _Remove the mask! Play for us the angel's music, in the guise of a twisted demon! _Here, Sasha frolicked, her golden-brown coat glistening in the light of the sun, which cast its comforting rays upon him. He could make anything happen within his imagination, and twist it enough to bring it to life with song.

It wouldn't last forever, though.

Illusions were made to be shattered, and cold, bleak reality shoved forward again. Ryoko's ancient hands couldn't play for very long; the stiffness and cold wouldn't allow it. Even as her final notes died down, his lingered on, fluttering from one series of scales to another. It wasn't until several measures later that he realized she had stopped. Blinking his eyes open, he gazed quizzically upon the elder, then understanding flickered through his gold and sapphire eyes. "May I?" He'd never had his hands upon an instrument like this, but he had studied her movements enough for him to get the gist of how to play it. Raising his hands from his knees, the skeletal fingers unfurled, as if he truly expected the old woman to see his scarred palms outstretched to her.

She was jolted from the grassy shore of the still waters with an audible gasp as the music ceased. Her eyes flew open and she pitched forward, her arms outstretched as if to toss that imaginary pebble, and she nearly toppled to her knees. She brushed the heavy curtain of her hair from her eyes with a gasp, and righted herself on the seat, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

How his voice had enraptured her… For several moments she had stood apart from herself, gazing upon a sight so very _real_ that she had even been able to hear the leaves flutter with the late evening breeze at the time she usually bathed. It was a disconcerting feeling, even disturbing, to feel so out of control, her mind in the hands of another. Blinking the haze from her eyes, she peered up through her lashes as Erik stretched his hands out to Ryoko.

Carefully lifting the sitar, he leant forward, slipping his hands beneath the instrument, and waited until she offered over the capo as well. Carefully taking it from her hand, he slid it upon the middle finger of his left hand. His thin fingers slowly caressed the strings, plucking softly here and there, testing the notes and familiarizing himself with where they were. Before more than a minute had passed, he began playing an old gypsy tune he had heard when he was but a child. With the passionate caress of a lover, his fingers tenderly strummed against the thin strings, effortlessly bringing the hauntingly jovial - yet somehow somber - song into the still air of the early morning. His eyes closed again, no longer needing to see where his hands went upon the long lap harp. Just as before he was drawn into the music, ensconced by the lulling keen of the notes. Fluent Romanian flowed from his lips, tightening that shielding hold.

Anna's gray eyes watched him as he played, her gaze fixed upon the hypnotic movement of his fingers, mere skin and tendons stretched over long, agile bones. It had been ten years or more since she had last heard a Romany melody. Vagrants had often wandered through the street outside her parent's London townhouse, playing such a tune as this. The music reminded her of those nights spent in her large bed, her window cracked, the shutters turned outward to catch the music, both mournful and jovial, floating on the evening air. Her parents had not cared for the traveling Gypsies, but she had loved their music. Anna was quickly lost in memories of dreams of being she was a dark skinned Gypsy girl, no longer plain and simple, with long raven curls, flashing obsidian eyes, twirling and dancing by a fire. As the Romany tune faded from his lips, so did the fantasy fade, and she slowly opened her eyes, peering at him. In the distance, outlining his form, was the first glimmer of dawn on the horizon. _Dawn..._ "Oh no!", she cried, leaping to her feet.

_Dawn!_

She was to have had the morning meal started by dawn. Without another word, she fled, leaving the two musicians behind.


	5. Bearing The Dragon's Claws

**Chapter Five**: Bearing The Dragon's Claws

He had been pulled so deeply beneath the tide that her sudden exclamation had startled him, and he nearly growled in protest as the capo skidded discordantly across the strings. His palms laid flat against the strings, silencing them, as he slowly attempted to slow his breathing. He gazed out over the glowing sky with a faint grimace. The light was never kind to him. Sighing gently, he pressed himself up, touching the woman's hand gently with cool fingers. She flinced slightly from the frigid touch. Her reaction sobered him up completely. Resting the sitar on her upraised palms, he slid the long metal ring from his hand and pressed it into her hand. His keen ears picked up the word Ryoko mumbled as she drug the sitar up onto her lap: _'Oni.'_ No mere mortal could sing as this man did, and the chill of his flesh strengthened the idea that he wasn't even _alive_.

Stepping away from her, Erik started off toward the house with weighted shoulders. Once out of the cold air, he returned to his room and settled behind his table, puzzling over the meaning of that word.

Once back to her room, heart still thundering from her race back to the house, Anna stripped as quickly as she could dressed herself in another gray kimono - an exact copy of the one she had worn only hours ago. She bound her hair tightly into a low, thick knot and left the small chamber, nearly tripping over her own feet. Once in the hall, however, her stance changed completely, unrecognizable as the harried woman of before. Her shoulders curved down, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her, she moved on swift, silent feet to the kitchens. Inside the large open room, she started a blaze in the fireplace, and moved quickly to light the oven and begin the morning meal.

Lost in her tasks, she never heard the silent footsteps until hard hands turned her roughly. Master Kito tipped Anna's chin up, his fingers deceptively light. He inspected her bruise. She kept silent, eyes averted. He frowned and nodded, then released her. "You are late, Anna. Your rice should have already been poured out." His voice was low and gentle. The hand that struck her left cheek was not. Anna did not make a sound, but simply bowed, her lips trembling. Kito left her, with a disdainful snort. Wishing the master's son to Hell, Anna turned back to her work. There was no time to waste on whimpers and sobs. They would gain her nothing.

Sleep was usually an impossibility for Erik. There were far too many things to do, and sleeping would do nothing but make him further behind. Four other designs were completely done, and a score of balled parchments littered the floor around his untouched bed-roll. Pitch black charcoal was embedded beneath his nails and around his cuticles. To think, he had gone from the paupers life to one of silk and jewels. Long ago he'd made a promise to himself that he would never see that life again; only perfection would surround him - something he could never accomplish with himself.

Hearing the house coming to life, he stayed within his room, determined to remain there until he was summoned - but that damnable curiosity of his got the better of him. He had seen the house at night, and now it was time to explore it during the day. Donning his borrowed kimono and a loose pair of silken trousers, he ensured his mask was on properly before he pressed the screen aside and stepped into the hall. The unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the near-silent house and he glanced briefly in that direction, seeing the young man exit the kitchen on the way to his next destination. Beneath the rim of the mask his lips twitched faintly, and he closed the screen sharply behind him. During his nocturnal exploration he had come across the yard in the back and the elaborately designed garden. It was in that direction that he had traveled to get some sunlight on his wan skin.

After regaining her composure, Anna set the rice to boil, then moved quickly to make the thick coffee that the masters took in the morning. As the delicious scent of its brewing filled the kitchens, she lifted a small basket up and hurried to the gardens: Mistress Kyomi was insistent upon fresh strawberries to be served with the cakes every morning. On quick feet she padded across the stone yard and into the gardens, drawing up short at the tall form there facing the elaborately trimmed hedges. Unsure what to say to him after the hours spent this morning with Ryoko, she simply nodded and knelt to begin picking the berries.

Cupping his hands behind him, the palm of one hand gently cradling the back of the other, he looked over the horizon, his sensitive eyes squinting against the light that glared maliciously at him. Hearing movement behind him, he didn't glance over his shoulder immediately, but continued chewing upon the piece of pilfered fruit. A tiny red rivulet was lapped from his lower lip, dragging an even smaller seed, and after swallowing the remnants of the plump strawberry, he tipped his bare chin over his shoulder, gazing back toward her. His hawklike eyes immediately discerned the reddened handprint on her face. Facing the labyrinthine hedges again he pursed his lips. "I wonder," he began, musing aloud, "If anyone in this family realizes that one can get more with a kind or firm hand rather than with abuse. Bloody idiots, the lot of them," he finished beneath his breath.

Surprised, she froze in the act of dropping a strawberry into her basket, and turned her head slightly to bring his still form into her vision. He was not looking at her, but back at the hedges. She returned to her berrying and, suddenly bold, spoke without knowing she was about to do so. "You may say such things because you are not of this country," she said in a low voice. "If you were, you would understand that is the way of things here." She sipped the juice from her fingers and turned back to her work, turnin away from him.

His mercurial temperament turned swiftly from cool to boil. Whirling on her, he nearly hissed, "The _way_ of things? It is the _way of things _to treat a person, a _human being _like an animal?" His voice was low, quiet. There was no need for him to yell - the deadly venom in his voice was more than enough. "I am surprised they do not kennel you like some beast while they let their cur traipse about within this _damnable _yard. 'The way of things,' _indeed_!" Growling low, he set his jaw firmly. Dragging in a slow breath, he closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. A few more calming breaths, and muscles strained taught as bow-strings carefully loosened. _Customs,_ he reminded himself. _Customs._

Anna stared at him for a moment before returning her gaze back to the basket of berries. A bitter smile lifted a corner of her mouth. "Kennel me? Don't be ridiculous. I'm afraid you are very unfamiliar with the way of the world if you believe they would actually cage a person. We do not live in a time of such things. If you will excuse me, I must go." She tossed the last of the strawberries into her basket and got to her feet, giving him a nod.

_She doesn't know. She doesn't know. _This became a mantra within his mind as his fingers tightened further, making his knuckles crack. Would he strike her? His eyes opened and fixed her with a gaze that should have either frozen her on the spot or left her in naught but a pile of scattered ashes. He was breathing so heavily that a person with lesser lung capacity would have hyperventilated. The lyrical music of his voice transformed into something malevolent as rage howled within him, clawing viciously to the surface. The look in his eyes froze her to her very center, as if the blood in her veins had turned to ice.

"And you are unfamiliar with the way of the world if you believe they _would not_ cage a person," he spat viciously, his beautiful voice twisted and ugly with rage. His lips were curled into a feral snarl below the black silk mask as he stalked away from her. He had to go, had to return to the relative safety of his chambers. Rather than making his pace stiff and unyielding, his blistering anger made it even more fluid, predatory. Thirsty.

Anna's eyes remained rooted to the spot where he had stood, unblinking, until she heard the screen of the garden entrance slam shut. Her breath whooshed from her body, and she nearly collapsed upon the stones. For several moments, she did nothing but tremble, reliving the murderous hate she'd seen in his mismatched eyes. She had believed in that moment that if he had been close enough to reach her, her life would now be ended. He was painfully thin, but his bones were heavy under the sleek muscle and he radiated immense power. There was not a doubt in her mind that he could snap her small neck with one savage motion. She vowed never to speak so freely to him again, for doing so would be to sign her own death warrant. Still shaking, she gathered her basket and hurried back to the kitchens.

Erik skulked down the hallway, his long-legged steps consuming the distance like a wildfire. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was grateful that no one crossed his path - _Especially that _woman_, or the boy _- and, pushing open the screen to his chambers, he stepped in and closed it behind him. Resisting the urge to rest back against the rice paper - as, truly, last thing he wanted to do was end up falling through it - he approached the low table and settled to a cross-legged sit behind it.

_Words. They were only words, _he thought, then snorted with a shake of his head. "Words from one that knows not the 'luxury' of living in a cage," he mumbled aloud. Taking up his pack, he up-ended it with one swift motion, dumping out the contents. Shuffling through the tightly folded clothing, he picked up the remaining scroll cases and set them aside. Emptying one case of its papers, he splayed the curled parchment out and promptly began writing his list of requirements - demands, really - for him to complete his tasks.

Anna worked as quickly as she could, her small slender hands formed the rice cakes with expert precision from years upon years of practice. She flavored each one with the sweet, sticky paste and slid them into the oven to brown. Coffee was poured out, and a delicate pot of sugar cubes and tiny pitcher of cream was laid alongside the steaming mugs on a tray, along with four china plates. Soon a basket of covered rice cakes, hot and aromatic from the oven, were added to the tray. A bowl of strawberries, washed and sweetened, was the final touch, and at last she carried the lot of it into the sun room where the family awaited its meal.

A fresh warm breeze blew through the sunroom, windows open to the expansive gardens and manmade fountains. Anna bowed to the room, then set the tray on the low table where the family sat simply awaiting their food. Breakfast was traditionally served by the mistress of the household, and Anna retreated quickly, eager to be away from the room. Her stomach growled with hunger for her own breakfast - leftover rice and perhaps two or three strawberries - as she bowed to the room and hurried away gracefully. If she did not eat quickly, she would have no chance later. The Masters did not allow her to remain idle.

The fourth plate remained untouched. Erik hadn't bothered to leave his room, indulging in the release of sketching, using his box of colored charcoal to enhance his designs until at last regaining control of his raging temper. He'd cleaned the room as well; all of the balled parchments were thrown away, and the lantern 'fixed.' It had been a simple matter to sew the tissue back into place, leaving a catch that could be easily released should he need the candle within.

In the dining area, the three of them waited silently for Erik to arrive. At last Dakuro grew impatient. The tardiness of this westerner was bordering on insolence. He had been informed by his wife of the man's late arrival, and enforced the idea that he wasn't going to let him go so easily - not after seeing the brilliance of the initial commissions. He called out sharply for Anna.

Back in the kitchens, enjoying a strawberry and staring out at the sun-drenched yard, Anna stifled a moan as she heard her name called. She rose to her feet, chewing the last of her fruit, and rushed to the sunroom. "Yes, Master?" she asked, bowing low.

"Go get that creature at once! He will not show disrespect to my table or to my generosity. You will bring him here at once. Girl, if you come back without him, I'll take my crop to your backside! Now go! I will not tolerate such insolence!"

Anna's face went pale, but she bowed without a word, moving quickly from the room. Resentment bloomed in her breast, and she cursed this stranger who believed himself above the household, who put her own place in this home in jeopardy.

Kito took great joy in the anger in his father's voice. Perhaps now that scrawny thing would pay for the way she – _It _- had spoken to him. Managing to keep his smug smile at bay, he watched her leave, then dropped his eyes to his untouched meal. Regardless of the rudeness of the stranger's behavior, it would have been equally rude of them to start without him.

Anna hesitated outside his door, remembering the heated rage in his eyes and voice. How would he react to her interruption? Surely he would not have skipped the morning meal, risking the master's ire, for a paltry reason. Beyond the screen all was silent, save for the faintest scratching of charcoal against parchment. Through the thin walls came the mingled scents of candle smoke and the sweet smell of poppyseed. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Anna raised a hand and knocked upon the screen.

"Mm..?" The scratching continued as the charcoal in Erik's slender hand brought the image on the parchment to life. He paid no attention to the buildings; his attention was focused entirely on the expanse of the of the gardens. Two clay-red smudges graced the side of his jaw, where he'd mindlessly rubbed dirtied fingers as he worked. His back and shoulders were saved from agony by the languorous grace with which he held the awkwardly hunched position.

Anna frowned in understanding: he had been indulging in his pipe again. She turned her head, listening. The room down the hall was expectantly silent. She knew she could not afford to lose any more time, or she risked feeling the lash upon her back. She hoped fervently that the opium would make him acquiescent. She slowly slid open the screen and stepped inside the room, finding him bent over his sketching, as she'd expected. "You must come to breakfast," she whispered, both hopeful and afraid that he would hear.

Lowering his hand from his jaw, he tucked it beside the lapel of his slightly parted robe, scratching his fingers along the jut of ribs. His eyes scanned along the parchment as used his pinky to carefully blend in the hedges, staining it with green. "Eating is a waste of time," he murmured faintly. "Three, four meals a day... You realize that the human body can survive on one alone. Even one a week. Without water, though..." He gently blew the excess charcoal dust away, completing his point, then casually returned to the drawing. "I am not hungry," he finally breathed softly, glancing towards her.

She paled under his condescending, complacent look. Drawing a deep breath, she swallowed, a hand rising to her throat as her pulse picked up speed. "It is not about your hunger, master." She felt once again, the need to refer to him as such. "The Master is requesting - _demanding_ - your presence. He will not take 'no' for an answer. It is considered _very rude_ not to attend." She waited, her other hand resting on the soft gray kimono, as though to soother her churning stomach.

"Rude," he grunted, sweeping his fingers from his jaw and leaving a faint grazing of reddish charcoal against the edge of the pitch-black mask. "I suppose they find everything rude." Rolling his shoulders back, he eased to straighten. Lacing his fingers together, he raised his lanky arms high above his head as he arched his back, eliciting a soft cacophony of cracks and a muffled groan. "Mm... very well. I shan't keep them waiting much longer. I will be there shortly." He gestured lethargically, signaling her to depart with his news.

Anna shook her head, setting her shoulders back with a deep breath. "You must come now, and with me." She firmed her jaw and met his eyes squarely. If he refused, there was nothing she could do but return to the family for her punishment.


	6. Of Demands And Demons

**Chapter Six**: Of Demands And Demons

As she spoke, his palm lifted, rubbing upon the bare flesh of his scalp, unconsciously leaving yet another faint streak of rust upon his skin. He glanced at her and he frowned deeply, heat flickering briefly within the contrasting deep blue and pale gold of his eyes. Bringing his hand down and taking up the cloth at his side, he began testily cleaning off his fingers. Easing to his feet, he absently closed his robe, knotting it securely. Why, he figured, should he bother getting dressed when he was already so comfortable? Delicately taking up the folded parchment at the table's corner, he slid it into the pocket of the red and gold robe. He motioned again, stepping around the table to approach the door.

Her shoulders sagging in relief, Anna turned and hurried from the room, her head bowing once more. They moved quietly, the soft padding of bare feet the only sound. She was very aware of his measured, stealthy steps behind her. He loomed above her, easily a foot taller, and she could feel his breath on her nape of her neck, beneath the knot of her hair, chilling her. She moved faster, fighting the distinct feeling that breakfast would not go well. Master Kyomi was furious with his new architect, furious and insulted. Anna wished she could be anywhere other than the sunroom when he faced his new employee. Erik was a fearsome man; her master was another. She bowed low to Erik at the entrance to the sunroom, then bowed even lower to the masters and left as quickly as she could.

Stepping past her as she bowed, Erik approached the table and lowered bonelessly, drawing the parchment free and laying it in the middle of the table. Touching it with two fingers, he slid it over to Dakuro with an amiable smile. He gave no polite excuse for being tardy, no apology. He didn't need them. If they didn't get the point that they need not expect him to come out to eat, then so be it.

Kyomi Dakuro frowned across the table in disbelief. No apologies; no begging for pardon..? The insufferable black-masked creature simply stared back, his pale lips pursed in an amiable, if mocking, smile.

Erik nodded to the parchment. "Here you shall find a list of things I require before I begin upon the buildings. The plans have been formulated, three of them drawn out for your perusal." He thought his demands were quite simple: a violin; several yards of replacement catgut string; ten more men to be added to the building crew; a particular builder from Persia with whom he'd worked briefly - the man had managed to stave off Erik's ire a number of times - and a case of poppy cakes. Yes, very simple.

Dakuro's brows drew together as he slowly opened the parchment. He would reserve his sharp retort for later. First he would see what demands this arrogant man thought himself worthy of; then he would peruse the plans and see if this _Erik_ was even worthy of his reputation. And if he was disappointed...there would be... _consequences_.

His eyes scanned over the list of demands, paltry things of inconsequential value - a drop in the bucket for a man of his wealth. Moving on, his eyes drank in the three included plans, shocked at the depth of detail and grandeur of each building, wondering aloud if such structures could even be created by man. He looked intently back to Erik. Saying nothing, he gave a grunt of satisfaction, removed the list of demands and slid them into the sash of his kimono, then slid the plans back to their creator and reached for the basket of rice cakes. He had given his approval – Now it was time to eat.

Erik's smile became, if possible, even more smug. Sliding the plans close, he folded them and tucked them into the pocket of his silken robe. Having absolutely no desire to remain among them, he rose and gave a genuinely polite bow before making his way out of the sunroom. Humming the melody he'd learned early that morning from Ryoko, he made a detour on the way to his room, finding Anna where she scrubbed energetically at the floors. "Anna," he purred with a gentle sing-song, "I have a task for you."

Upon her hands and knees, a damp, water and soap soaked cloth clutched between her fingers, she paused as he approached her. _He has a task for me?_ She glanced back down at the wet rag in her hands and slowly sat up, her knees giving a soft crack as she sat back upon her heels. She reached up one hand and tucked a strand of loose golden brown hair behind her ear, leaving a streak of dirty water upon her pale cheek. She darted out her tongue, wetting her lips hesitantly, before she raised her eyes to gaze. "Yes?"

Pausing a few feet away from her, he lowered to a crouch. Tipping his head slightly he glanced to the nearby bucket. "First, I need a bath to be drawn. Then you will accompany me to the markets." Turning his head, he fixed his gaze upon her, continuing before she could protest. "I am quite sure they would understand my need for you. If materials are to be purchased, I must have a translator. I am sure they will be too busy with their primping and preening to do so in your stead." Elegantly, his deceptively delicate shoulders lifted and fell in an idle shrug. He smiled. "Do be quick with finishing this floor. I expect to leave before noon." Effortlessly he pressed to a stand and gave into the compulsion to brush the robe's edge down, letting it fall back around his slender ankles.

Upon the floor in her kneeling position, she raised her eyes and looked back up at him, looming like a slender tree with his height and form. She opened her mouth to protest that she would _never _finish the floor by noon; it was already nearly ten, and she had only just begun! But before she could voice that very thought, he turned and left her, his robe fluttering with his swift, boneless steps. Her shoulders rose and fell sharply as she huffed out a frustrated breath. The masters would not be pleased if she did not have the floors polished to such a fine gloss that they shone - she would not risk a beating just to please this arrogant man. "We shall see," she murmured under her breath at his retreating backside, then bent back to her work.

Returning to his room and closing the screen behind him, he regarded the 'door,' half contemplating changing the walls to offer more privacy. He wasn't here to improve their home, though it was tempting. Returning to the table and his pack, he lowered to the floor, kneeling comfortably with his legs folded beneath him as he collected his pouch. Pulling loose the drawstring, he poured a few of the thin coins into his hands, flicking a few here and there. The coinage system was something he had yet to learn, and he was quite sure the man at the ferry had change to give him before he left. However, with the agreement they'd settled on for his pay, he wasn't at all concerned about his money dwindling.

Collecting his parchments and carefully rolling them, he slipped them one by one into their cases. Quietly looking on the garden drawing, he studied it carefully, inwardly lamenting the steadily lifting haze. An addictive thing, the drug allowed him to veil his eyes to the world, and let him feel free. The itch to indulge again had returned, but he refused to allow himself to be enslaved. Nothing would hold bonds upon him, be it physically, mentally or emotionally.

Anna, realizing that Erik would force her to the markets with him no matter her protests, finally worked up enough nerve to explain his wished to Mistress Kyomi. The older woman was not happy, but acquiesced, knowing from the scene that had played itself out this morning that her husband would not deny his new acquisition anything so quickly. Kyomi was a man of action, and the fact that he had not acted upon his architect's insult this morning gave evidence of his need for the horrid masked creature. She dismissed Anna, advising her to hurry with the preparations for Erik's bath.

Anna called out softly from the hall, burdened with the heavy buckets of steaming water. Glancing up from his book, a devious part of him wanted to see just how she was going to open the door - but she had surely been tormented enough by her 'owners.' Turning the book upside-down, he rested the dog-eared pages against the table and slithered to a stand, taking the distance to the screen in a few short strides. Easing it open, he moved to the side, giving her ample room for her to enter. "The same soaps and oils you brought me before will be adequate, Anna."

What was this? Polite, and _without_ the scent of burnt poppies in the air? Surprised at his cordial, almost friendly tone, she blinked up at him, then stepped inside, carrying the two laden buckets to the sunken basin. She sunk to her knees and laid each vessel down with a silent sigh of relief, and emptied them into the bath. From her sleeve she pulled the same small bottles of oils and the wrapped bar of soap and laid them to the side where they would be within easy reach. She stood and picked the buckets back up, her gaze meeting his. His eyes were still amiable. She surprised herself by allowing her face to soften in a shy smile, bringing a bit of warmth to her eyes. No one had looked at her with anything like courtesy in so many years that she had almost forgotten how nice it could be. Promising to return to him in a moment with the rest of his water, she left the room quickly, cheeks pink.

Erik returned to the table, gathering his book and lowering himself to sit upon his bedroll. The book was one he had read numerous times before, evidenced by the wear within its binding, but he never tired of it, letting himself be drawn into the many stories within one, told by a woman determined to live as a sultan's wife. A thousand and one tales to distract the man, and draw him into the weave of the tales' web. Quickly becoming engrossed again, he glanced up only when Anna returned.

Dumping the last of the water into the tub, she rose and turned back to him. Biting her lip, she wondered what he was reading. It had been months since she had last had the time to read anything. Every night she was worn and aching, ready only to crawl into her bed and sleep. She missed the sensation of escaping from reality into a good book - her own reality was so grim and harsh. She stared longingly at the book, wishing that the masters would understand that she needed some time for herself, something she did not foresee happening anytime soon. She was barely given an hour in which to bathe.

Curiosity and her love of books won out, and she set the buckets aside and stepped closer to him. She reached out a hand, turning the binding toward her a bit, recognizing the illustration upon it. One of her fingers lightly touched one of his and the chill momentarily surprised her, but she whispered wistfully, "Oh, Arabian Nights! One of my favorites! Which story are you on?"

His eyes followed her hand carefully, as if it was some poisonous thing ready to strike at him at a moment's notice. When she touched the book's binding and his finger he moved both, drawing them in closer. "The Ebony Horse," he stated absently, a bit surprised that she knew the book. He brought his eyes to her again, curiously. "What is your favorite story?" Away from the others, from the woman and her idiot son, he could be much more relaxed, just so long as she didn't rub him the wrong way - something that was all too easy to do.

Anna pulled her hand back, her face flushing with shame as he pulled the book away, but she looked up into his eyes and gave him another surprising smile, her gray eyes lighting in her face. "The Adventures of Sinbad. I always enjoyed his battles. I used to have a play sword as a child, and I would pretend to defend myself against the skeleton soldiers. My mother was always quite horrified." She fiddled with a corner of the bedroll and laughed, something she had not done in over a decade, the soft musical, sound surprising even her with its innocence. She blushed and covered her mouth and turned away. "Forgive me, Erik; you are reading. I will leave you to your bath. Please let me know if you need anything else." It was past time that she leave.

Tilting his head faintly at her laughter and the following blush, he lowered the book slightly then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Mothers tend to become horrified rather easily." This was a fact he certainly knew. A bitter line crossed his lips and he shook his head, deciding not to dwell anymore than he had already. "That is a portion I enjoy as well; the tales of Sinbad." He glanced down to the book thoughtfully. "I would give you this copy, but I am afraid that it is in Arabic." Turning the book, he revealed the curving lines and dots, then closed the pages to set it aside. Now that his bath was ready, he was looking forward to a little relaxation before their trip to the markets. "For now I need nothing, though _you _should freshen up before we depart."

Her face reddening, she stood. It was true her hair was slipping from her tight bun due to her exertions with the floors and then the heavy buckets of bathwater, and her kimono was damp and grubby at the knees. She had no time for a bath, so a quick wash of her face and a fresh kimono would have to do. If her duties permitted, she would escape to the pond tonight to bathe and wash her hair. She turned to Erik, gave him a slight bow, then picked up her buckets and left, the screen clicking softly shut behind her.

Minutes later, as she changed into a gray and black walking kimono and tied a white scarf about her hair, she realized belatedly that _he_ must speak Arabic. He certainly was not Arabic - his voice bore a faint French accent, and his skin was pale. He must be greatly traveled and well-educated. Her breath caught - that satchel of his must be filled with books. Would he miss one if it should 'disappear' when she cleaned his room one day? She shook her head, putting such improper thoughts from her head. The man reacted as if she had insulted him whenever she accidentally touched him - he would surely have her skinned alive if she stole from him.

It was nice to be in a land where the lack of water wasn't a threat. At least he wouldn't have to see people going thirsty because some holier-than-thou Shah wanted to tax for something so trivial. As she closed the screen, he rose from the floor, stripping down as he approached the heated bath. With a heartfelt sigh of contentment, he sank into the basin, lounging idly, taking full advantage of the warmth that soaked straight into his bones. Though he had said he wanted to leave before noon, it was nearly twenty minutes later before he even considered climbing out of the water. Casting a long wary look to the screen, he removed the mask and swiftly washed his face and head, donned the silk-covered papier-mache with practiced ease. Slipping from the tepid pool, he dried off completely and searched through the bundled clothing, selecting his garb for the day. It was a flowing, somber black that he had chosen, hemmed in blood red with delicate glyphs woven into the cuffs, the top short in the front, with the sides and back licking at his ankles. Smoothing his hands along the cloth, he took up his pouch and tied it securely at his belt, beneath the draping silk.

Anna slid the screen of her room shut, the soft click echoing hollowly in the stillness of the house. The master and his wife had gone to pay a social visit. Master Kito, no doubt, had gone into the village proper to drink with his friends or secure a whore for the evening. It was a worthy pursuit in his father's eyes - Japanese men were rarely faithful in their marriages, which were often ones of convenience. No doubt Master Kito would do the same when he took his vows. Anna looked forward to that day with longing. His eyes and hands lingered upon her too often for her comfort. The evenings in which she assisted him bathe, forced to rub his back and arms with lotions, were uncomfortable ones. Once he was married, he would be safely out of the house and she would be able to relax, no longer worrying about the order to stay in his room after she had poured his bath. Master Kyomi had already mentioned some prospective brides; surely one would be chosen soon. She waited patiently outside Erik's door.

For a few moments he considered switching his partial mask for the full one, then decided against it. There were some things in the market he might care to sample. Even if he wasn't generally hungry, he was never one to pass up the chance to try something new and different. Pressing the wide sleeve up, he attached a slender sheathed stiletto against his forearm, then brushed the cloth down before approaching the screen. Sliding it aside, he glanced down at her then skirted past to make his way to the front door, gathering his footwear. Though it had rained the night before, the day was bright and warm. He was actually looking forward to feeling the heat upon his skin - what skin was revealed, anyway. Slipping the leather back upon his slender feet, he made his way outside. Absently tucking his hands into the sleeves, he paused at the top of the trio of stairs and took in a slow breath through the nose portion of the mask, gathering the scents of the day – sun and apple blossoms.

She studied him from beneath her lashes as she slipped on her sandals, then flicked her hem back over her small ankles. She rose, putting a hand over her eyes, surveying the day. It was glorious afternoon, the sun beating down warmly - mercifully, with a slight breeze. Thankfully, it was acceptable to wear a one-layered walking kimono when at the market, rather than her heavier indoor garments. Her hem fluttering, she tipped her face up to his, squinting a bit from the sunshine. "Are you read to depart, sir?"

Nodding once, he stepped down the stairs and started up the side of the road towards the market he had seen on the way to the house. Silence shrouded him as he settled within his contemplations, going over a few of the plans in his mind as he looked over the houses they passed. Tucking his hands behind him, cupping one within the other, he glanced over his shoulder to her then turned his head back around. "The old woman used a word last night that I do not know. Perhaps you do. 'Oni?' And do not dally behind." Releasing a hand he gestured for her to walk at his side, then brought his arm back again, loosely clasping his wrist.

Her feet stilled upon the dirt road, and she lifted her face, her eyes locking upon the back of his head. _Oni_. **_Demon._** _Ryoko called him a demon_... Her eyes traveled the long, narrow length of him, her mouth suddenly dry with apprehension, fear, and..._pity?_ How was she to tell this man that her friend had called him a demon? Even though she had believed such things of him herself when she had first seen him silhouetted in that rain curtained doorway, his eyes fearsome behind that disturbing black silk mask, she _could not_ tell him such a thing. It would be cruel. And she was terrified of him - what would he do once he heard the words from her lips? She remembered all too well the murderous gleam in his eyes this morning in the garden, the hideous rage that had distorted his beautiful voice. He was a proud man, chillingly elegant - would he understand the insult did not come from _her_, but from a superstitious old woman?

She resumed her walk, her eyes upon the puffs of dirt rising about her sandals. She opened her mouth, but could not make the truth come. She faltered a moment, then at last heard herself speak, the words seeming to come from somewhere else. "I...I think it means...musician. Yes... you played for her. It... means _musician_." She gasped a breath in, halting the mad tumble of words. "The market is very near now. What do you seek?"

He paused beneath a tree rioting with pinkish-white blooms, raising a long arm to carefully pluck a flower from the branch. Bringing it down, the tips of his thin fingers stroking faintly along a silken petal. He'd immediately picked up on her stalling and stammering. Head subtly bowed and his gaze upon the bloom, he twirled it between his fingers, slowly spinning it first left, then right. "…_Musician_..?" Meeting the eyes of a pedestrian who was curiously looking in his direction, Erik glanced away and carefully stepped around a small puddle of water. "That _might _be believable… if I did not know the translation for musician. Not to mention that your every mannerism betrays that you're lying. Come now, what does it mean?"

Anna moved towards him, away from the puddle of water and ducked her head to avoid the low hanging apple blossoms. Between her hands, she worked the white linen of her scarf, her small fingers pinching and twisting the ends. He knew that she had lied to him, and his voice, deceptively quiet and low, made it plain that he would not tolerate her doing so again. She ran her tongue over her top lip, wishing that she could avoid hurting him - if he indeed had feelings to hurt under that icy exterior. Then she recalled the raw emotion in his angry eyes – oh, yes. She knew he had feelings. Unexpected tears pooled in her eyes as she looked up into his, her hands stilling upon her scarf.

_God help us both… Forgive me for this, Erik…_

Her voice was less than a whisper."It means...demon."


	7. Arabian Nights and Japanese Gardens

**Chapter Seven**: Arabian Nights and Japanese Gardens

The twirling of the bloom ceased abruptly, and he lifted his head, observing the expanse of land before him. He barked a short laugh, devoid of humor. "_Demon_. Well now... She would not be too far off, now, would she?" His lips twisted faintly as he smoothed his thumb across the petals, pinching one between his long fingers and plucking it away from the rest of the bloom. Letting the delicate petal flutter to the ground, he plucked free another. _Beast. Living Corpse. Thing. It. Now Demon. Why, Erik..., _he mused quietly, bitterly, _You're making your way up the food chain. _"I seek bolts of cloth, as well as stylus materials, mostly colored charcoal, the paper-wrapped type."

She winced at his voice; so dead, lifeless, devoid of all feeling. The utter lack of emotion somehow frightened her more than his anger would have. With a weak nod, she followed him into the hubbub of the market, voices ringing about them in a cacophony of sound. He strode ahead of her. She picked up the edges of her kimono and jogged to catch up, his long legs eating up the distance though he moved with languid grace. A boy on a small pony galloped past, and she was whirled about, a clod of mud striking her on the cheek. She turned back, searching for Erik's black silk clad back, only to find he was no longer in sight. Cursing under her breath, she ran ahead, standing on tiptoe until she saw his head, far above those around him, bald scalp pale in the glare of the sun. She hurried to his side and wrapped a hand about his wrist under his sleeve. "You might wish to wait for me, sir! It is easy to get lost in such a place!"

_Why, every one here is shorter than I._ He found it odd, the differences between Europeans and those of the East. Ever observant, he took in the various sights around him. Curiously peering over a selection of roasted foods, he ignored the hawking voices of the vendors around him. They were speaking so swiftly that he couldn't catch what they said anyhow. He started to wander again, until he felt the hand slide around his wrist. He tensed briefly, his eyes flashing in her direction with a cool regard as he shook off her hold, then brushed the cloth down to conceal his alabaster flesh. She had a point. Turning upon one heel, he continued through the market, steeling himself against the brushes of people here and there.

As Erik selected the items he wanted, Anna stared longingly at brightly colored silks, jewels, hair combs - and especially the books. At one point, while he turned away to peruse a selection of charcoals and colors, she turned her head toward the next booth. Her mouth nearly watered: row after row of books were stacked there. She approached slowly. The man behind the booth raised his eyes to her, scanning her up and down, then grunted around the pipe held between his teeth, dismissing her as below his notice. He turned his attention back to the book in his hands. Anna reached out and stroked a leather cover lovingly before picking it up with reverent hands, opening it carefully. She smiled as she read the title in Japanese - _Arabian Nights_. She cast a glance back at her companion, still engrossed in his charcoals. _An odd moment to read, but one must make do!_ She bent her head and flipped the pages open to the _Adventures of Sinbad_. Soon she was lost, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes wide with wonder.

Choosing a delicate box with a nightingale and a rose carved upon its lid, he brushed his fingers over it, recalling a tale he had once heard in his travels. Collecting select colors, he lined the bottom of the box with charcoals, choosing two, sometimes three of certain hues. Rubbing his index finger and thumb together, distractedly balling up the remainder of the flower, he let the knotted stem drop to the ground as he closed the lid. His attention was caught by a collection of large, leather-bound books. Raising a brow, he opened one, looking upon the blank leaves. Perfect. He collected two of them; one for his sketching and the other for his music, even if he never transcribed the notes onto paper. Placing the tomes within the bend of his arm and resting the box upon the top, he drew closer to the reading books and collected one. From right to left these people read; the back of a book would be the beginning. Cracking one open near the middle, he stroked his finger against the calligraphy. The writing was just beautiful, something he wanted to learn... once he was able to grasp the language more firmly. "Anna," he murmured quietly, flipping to the next page with his hidden brows knitted.

The skeletons soldiers were closing in upon her, their drawn swords winking wickedly in the sun. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she raised her chin defiantly, daring them to attempt to defeat her. One hissed a scream of wrath and lunged at her..."Oh!" Her head snapped up, and she blinked at Erik, who had just softly murmured her name. She pressed the book to her breast and blinked over at him, her cheeks reddening furiously. _Some things never change,_ she mused. It shouldn't surprise her that at the age of four-and-twenty, she could still completely lose herself in a story. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and straightened, clearing her throat with embarrassment. "Yes?"

"You can speak and read Japanese; do you know how to write it?" He tapped the book with the tip of a finger, carried his items over to where the pipe-smoker sat. "Come along, and bring that book with you as well." Placing the two leather-bound tomes upon the table, he set the box of charcoal pencils down and glanced back to her. This was the other reason why he had wanted her to come along: he had little knowledge of Japanese currency, and she could indicate to him whether or not these people were taking advantage of him. It was the same everywhere he went – because of his ignorance, people tried to steal away what money he had.

"Yes, I can write it. Mistress Kyomi taught me very early in my service to her household." She approached his side, _Arabian_ _Nights_ still clutched to her chest. She looked down at it, then back up at him, biting her lower lip. _Does he mean to buy it for me?_ The expectant, impatient look in his eyes said just that, and she hesitantly laid it alongside his items. She ran a finger over the carved box, admiring the beauty of the fine wood, then turned to the man behind the table and pushed the goods toward him, signaling they were ready to pay. The merchant, his pipe still clenched between his teeth, peered insolently at her through narrow, almond-shaped eyes. His attention then flicked to Erik, passing over his pale, foreign skin, his Arabic robe, and his mask. Between his teeth, the man he quoted a ridiculous sum, obviously passing them both off as ignorant outlanders. At once the demeanor of a servant dropped from her shoulders. Placing a hand on her hip, she raised a disdainful brow and told him in rapid, flawless Japanese what a great fool he was, her voice sharp and authoritative. The merchants eyes flicked from her to the solemn gentleman, belatedly realizing his mistake. He visibly paled, nodded, and named a more reasonable sum. She turned her head to Erik and gave him the price in English.

Glancing down to the books, he nodded softly. The price seemed fair enough. Brushing back the Persian robe, he took up the pouch of coins. Holding the leather thongs hooked upon one finger, he held it out to her so she could pluck out the proper amount and pay for his items, then indicated she should keep the pouch for now. Meanwhile, he collected his things, resting them in the crook of his arm before he turned around and approached the edge of the bustling street. Waiting patiently for her, he glanced down as she approached, then drew in a breath and stepped out into the crowd. "Where can I find silk? I grow tired of wearing that borrowed kimono." So tired that he was simply going to make one of his own. He wouldn't have to worry about someone getting close enough to measure him – too close – then.

She furrowed her brows and glanced up and down the street, then sighted what she was looking for: a small booth run by an older lady, a procurer of the some of the finest materials available. "Follow me," she murmured, and led him down the busy street. As they walked, she tipped her head up and looked up at him. "You must learn to speak the language, sir. That man quoted you a price _seven_ times what you ended up paying him. Would... would you like me to teach you? Teach you to speak it fluently, that is, and to write it? I believe I owe you my thanks for the lovely book."

"Who said I was purchasing the book for you?", he mentioned pointedly, in an offhand tone. His attention caught by the song of birds even over the din of the market, he glanced over to a nearby tree, watching a pair of sparrows twitter about. After a moment he lost interest and turned forward again, lifting a hand to scratch along his jaw beneath the rim of the mask. "I had wagered a guess that he would attempt to trick me out of my money. The look of undisguised greed in his eyes guaranteed it." Tucking his arms behind him again, he clasped his wrists loosely, saying nothing about the book, willing to let her ponder whether he had purchased it for himself or for her. Maintaining a suitable distance behind her, he slowed down now and again to glance over one thing or another, as easily taken in by the sights of foreign items as a child in a houseful of fascinating new toys.

Feeling very ashamed of herself and her assumption, and like nothing more than the servant that she was, she blinked back her hurt with a whispered "I'm sorry" as she walked ahead. The path to the silk merchant was clear of traffic and she sped up, wishing now to be away from him and his icy demeanor. She arrived there first and promptly turned on her heel and waited for him to pass, pointedly ignoring him. She was angry, but not at him - he had truly done nothing wrong - but at _herself_, for believing that he could be kind. She turned her attention to a bolt of soft mint-colored silk, wishing he would hurry and make his purchases so she could be away from him for the rest of the day. The woman who ran the booth smiled up at her with a gap-toothed grin and began a conversation, remarking on the silk. Anna let the tension drop from her shoulders and smiled in turn, making conversation with the peddler.

The question remained on just what colors he should purchase. Adjusting his hold upon the books, he set them aside and brushed his fingers slowly over a deep burgundy silk. Picking up one corner, he rubbed the material between a thumb and index finger, then turned his attention to the crowd again, checking the colors they were wearing. He had always been partial to the deeper shades: dark purples, reds and blues. Black most of all. Sighing heavily, he tsked softly at himself, and collected several folded lengths – their cost was sure to be dear. He even gathered a 'servant' gray, as well as metallic silver. Something caught his eye: an embroidery kit. With a soft sound of pleasure in his throat, he collected it, opening it to look upon its contents: wide-eyed needles, rainbows of floss, bits of leather. _Perfect. _Spirits lightening a bit, he piled the kit - along with ten or twelve bolts of silk - upon the books, carrying them over to the merchant. With a brief touch of cool fingers to Anna's elbow, he motioned her to pay for the items.

She turned, collecting his items and laying them before the kind-faced peddler. The woman gave her a fair price immediately, without quibbling, and Anna paid for the goods, then picked them up, sliding them into Erik's arms before turning away and leading him back out into the street. The crowds had thinned and the air had cooled slightly. Evening was nearing, and soon the horizon would turn a breathtaking shade of soft lilac and gentle gold. The breeze would carry throughout the house, and the birds' songs would change, growing low and sweet as the sun sank into the ocean. It was one of her favorite times. Perhaps if she was lucky, she would be able to escape and complete her bathing before the sun disappeared completely. Night could be unsafe in this country. A sword flashed in her memory, and she shuddered, the warmth of the sunbaked street forgotten. Swallowing back old memories, she raised a hand to her throat and turned to Erik. "Shall we return now, sir?"

"I believe I have everything." Though he could have had her carry the items, he chose to keep them within his grasp. Shifting the weight, he opened one of the books and slid half of the silk within. Doing the same to the other, he trapped the bottom of the books against the side of his chest with the embroidery kit and box of pencils settled on top. Stepping past her, he took up the lead again as they started off to the house. His pace was a bit slower this time, allowing him to study the buildings they passed. He noted the similarity of their shapes. Not only that – everything about them was the same, the yards, the general appearance of the entire area – each was basically a mirror of the others. A small frown crossed his lips; he did so dislike making carbon copies. His employer had seemed satisfied enough with the ideas that he'd presented, so he decided to stick with them. The house wasn't too far off when he paused and moved to the side of the road, stepping onto the graveled walkway in the yard of one home. Something about the house caught his attention - he peered up curiously at the mirror catching the sunlight. Turning his head, he gazed from roof to roof, noticing others he had missed before. He shrugged inwardly and continued on to the steps of the manor.

At the entrance, Anna stepped around him, brushing brusquely past. She knew such insolence might get her punished, but after a day spent in his icy company, she was eager to be away from him. With quick steps, she disappeared to her room, removing her scarf and changing into a serviceable gray kimono. As she stepped out of her room, sliding the screen shut adjusting her sash, Mistress Kyomi caught her eye, standing in the hallway near the kitchen. The older woman gave a sharp gesture, and Anna moved quickly to her side. Eyes lowered, she received her tasks for the evening: finish the floors, cut fresh flowers from the garden, and the dinner which consisted of tuna sashimi, spring rolls, rice, and salted beans. Inwardly lamenting the lack of time and the impromptu trip to the marketplace, Anna set about her duties. She finished the floors first, leaving them gleaming, then carried a basket outside for fresh flowers. As she clipped several low hanging branches of white orchids, she raised an eye to the horizon with a low sound of disappointment. She would only have time for a quick bath while the family dined. _Food or a bath? _Not for the first time, she envied those who did not have to make such a choice.

Erik found the coming night far too beautiful to spend it indoors. Carrying out a few sheets of parchment, as well as one of the smooth books he had purchased, he settled on the steps with the open box of pencils. Absently, he watched the sky, studying the mingling colors, bringing his eyes down and taking those very same shades to the first page of the book. He was almost disappointed that he hadn't purchased something like this some time ago. He would've been able to draw pictures of each place he'd visited. They were still fresh in his mind; perhaps he could get to them later, once he was finished with this. Blending the colors with his left hand, he reached down and picked up his pipe with the other, filled this time with a sweet-smelling tobacco – nearly the last of it that he had. Drawing in a lung-full of aromatic smoke, he set the pipe aside and regarded the picture with a faint tilt of his head, breathing the smoke out slowly from his nostrils. So enraptured in his drawing, he didn't see Kito standing not far off, eyeing both him and the book with ill-concealed distaste.

Kito's cold obsidian eyes watched the macabre creature as it sketched, its disturbing spidery fingers dancing over the page. _Drawing_! Such an unworthy pursuit for a man. His father, the old fool, seemed to find the repulsive bag of bones an invaluable tool. Kito snorted disdainfully under his breath. He supposed the houses his father had commissioned would bring a fortune from the men who would buy just them to have bragging rights of the finest dwellings, but surely he could have picked someone else to design them besides this insolent corpse! _Erik_, as he was called, had already got on Kito's bad side. He had disrespected the rules of the house - rules that, had they had been broken by anyone else, would have resulted in swift reproof and punishment. Yet _he _had received only condescension! The girl's punishment last night should have been _his_, not this _thing's_! He certainly would have given her more than a trifling bruise on the cheek. He had advised his father on who should have been given the commissions - and had been rebuffed, as he usually was. He scoffed softly in the back of his throat. The old man put too much trust in outsiders. It was his honor-bound duty to serve his _own _countrymen, to give his son responsibility over his holdings. If that creature was trusted with what should be his... With a contemptuous sniff, he turned on his heel and stalked off in the opposite direction, towards the gardens where he had last seen Anna. He needed a bath drawn before dinner.

It was the grinding crunch of gravel that caught his attention, and from behind a thin wall of smoke he glanced over toward the retreating back. Resting the pipe aside again, he faintly pressed his lips thin, then glanced back to the picture. The setting of the sun was captured forever upon the smooth parchment, and within its waning light were the houses on this very street. Not too terrible of a job. Sighing heavily, he lifted a hand, rubbing slowly at his scalp. He took up the pipe, tapping out the contents and snuffing out the glowing embers with the thick heel of a bare foot. The singe was nothing, not for someone who'd walked over searing coals more than once. It was nothing compared to the pain he had experienced in his life. He gazed upon his hands quietly, turning them slowly to examine the heel of his palms and along the line of his pinky. Curling his fingers slowly, he closed the book and tucked the pipe into his robe's pocket, putting away the charcoal pencils and closing the lid. Rising to stand, he made his way into the house into his room.

Anna placed slender branches of delicate white orchids about the house in narrow, calligraphed vases. After drawing Master Kito his bath, mercifully released from assisting him, she arranged the flowers carefully, then began the preparations for dinner. The time spent in the gardens, the serene sunset before her, had left her relaxed and contented, her mind clear. She hummed softly as she sliced the firm, red tuna steaks into thin strips, draping them over balls of rice flavored with vinegar and horseradish. Salted, blanched green bean pods were already set aside in a serving bowl, the spring rolls already fried in oil and resting on the tray. She set four bowls of steamed rice and a plate of the sashimi with the other items, and set out tea and saki for those who wished to indulge, then carried the heavy tray carefully into the sunroom, now open to the evening air.

Moving with graceful precision, she bowed to the room and gave the tray over to the mistress to serve. Her newest master had once again not deigned to appear for dinner. With a last bow, she softly whispered her plans to bathe to her mistress, who stiffly nodded permission. Anna hurried from the room, running to gather a towel and her robe. Several minutes later she was immersed in the small pond, scrubbing at her hair and body with coarse soap. The water was chilly, the night dark, but she had long ago grown accustomed to bathing in the small glade after sundown. She hummed happily in her throat as she rinsed her hair. It was with great reluctance that she finally left the pond and shrugged into her robe.

Erik knew he had undoubtedly irritated the family again by not being prompt for dinner, and he did not care. He had broken away from his drawing to go off to the sunroom, glancing briefly into the garden in passing, semi lost in thought. He paused and glanced back again to the dark garden, swearing he had seen something. He had, in fact, and it made his blood run cold through his veins. While his mind attempted to convince him to just turn around and go to dinner, his body made a different decision altogether, and he inched closer to the wall separating him from the outside.

Hidden, he dampened his throat with a slow swallow while gazing on the moonlit pond and its unknowing occupant, all the while trying to ignore the cry of protest his better sense gave him. _Turn around - move your feet - go, _he kept repeating to himself, but he wouldn't listen. It wasn't until she had shrugged back into her robe that the 'spell' broke, and he turned, resting his back to the wall and sliding slowly down its surface. His thin arms wrapped about his waist as a familiar demon of an ache gripped at his insides, and he exhaled slowly - a breath that never made its complete exit as a faint snicker caught his attention. He glanced up sharply, noticing for the second time that day the departing back of the eldest son. The corner of Erik's mouth curled in something far more disdainful than a smile.

The grass tickling her bare feet as she sauntered slowly to the house, Anna continued to hum softly in the back of her throat. She worked her fingers through her heavy, damp hair, tangled down to her waist. One snarl in particular grabbed at her hand, and she tugged at it until the wet ends slid apart. She tossed the long mass of her hair over one shoulder and stepped into the warm air of the garden entryway, knotting the sash of her robe tighter about her abdomen. She took a deep breath, inhaling the soft fragrance of apple blossom soap with a smile. She never felt as well as she did after leaving a bath. _If only I could enjoy a warm one on occasion! _With a small shrug for things not worth worrying over, she turned into the hall - and ran into Master Kito, coming out of the rear garden room. With a gasp, she pressed herself against a wood panel as he leered at her. She averted her eyes as he reached out a finger and traced the line of her still damp throat. "Enjoy your bath, Anna?", he asked quietly, moving the hand into her hair, winding the damp strands about his short, stubby fingers. She nodded, moving as far away from him as she could. He twisted his wrist, hard, and jerked her back to him. A sound of pain escaped her.

"Be careful, Anna. You weren't the only one enjoying your little swim." With that, he released her abruptly, sending her back against the panel with a clatter. Her eyes squeezed closed, and she pulled deep breaths into her searing lungs.

_How I hate him!_


	8. Sake and Sobering Questions

**Chapter Eight**: Sake and Sobering Questions

His arrival to the dining area wasn't welcomed with open arms and warm smiles. The woman's gaze was cold and steely, while the Master of the house tried his best to stave off his irritation. He kept bringing excuses to mind - that perhaps their guest was used to a completely different schedule, and so on, but sooner or later those excuses wouldn't work anymore. Erik wasn't even vaguely hungry, and he regarded the food before him with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. Raw fish? The sake, though - that's what truly caught his attention. How could something be so strong at such small doses? That was a thought he should have laughed at, especially with his particular habit. It may not have been one of his better ideas, but he reached for the sake. And again. He needed to get that image from his head: the gentle flair of hip, the way hair clung to glistening, golden skin… Perhaps he overindulged just a bit too much, to the amusement of the two who'd been so exasperated with him just moments before.

"Should he be carried to his room?" Dakuro asked his wife with a half grin, regarding Erik as he sat with an empty cup, staring into the porcelain bottom as if trying to divine his future. Nio snorted. "I am not touching it. How many has he had anyway?" She was tempted to pick up the cane at her side and poke at him to see if he'd tip over. "Four? Five? I lost count when he began speaking that … language." Dakuro shrugged.

Though he seemed completely oblivious, Erik had heard them... but he wasn't listening. Smacking his lips faintly, he lifted the cup and tipped it to his lips - then promptly tipped over backward. The two glanced to each other, and then laughingly called out together: "Anna!"

Running a comb through her damp hair, now glistening and free of tangles, Anna met her own startled grey eyes in the tiny mirror as she heard the masters call her. _Could they be… laughing?_ Frowning, she set down the comb and rose from the small cot, still dressed in her white cotton robe. She looked down at herself and rushed to change, but then they called her once more, and she distinctly heard Mistress Nio snort. Curiosity and her duty as a servant prompted her to simply tie the robe tighter about her small waist and smooth her hair before scurrying down the hall to the dining room. _What could have caused such hilarity! _Before she even stepped over the threshold, however, the overpowering smell of sake assaulted her senses, making her nose wrinkle. Her jaw dropped. Sprawled very inelegantly upon the floor, his backside still ensconced on his seating cushion, lay Erik. One long, thin arm was languidly outstretched, the other draped across his chest, tiny sake cup still clasped limply in his fingers, his one knee in the air, the other leg sprawled. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying hard to hold in a highly inappropriate gale of laughter. She failed.

"Is ... he... unconscious?" Nio managed to gasp out between gaffaws, Erik's curled toes making her laugh harder. "Now you should be glad that I did not get rid of him," Dakuro coughed breathlessly. "It has been long since I've seen you laugh this much." Breathing out slowly, he stood and made his way over to the young man as he attempted to right himself. The image of a turtle came to the Dakuro's mind, and he thumped a hand against his knee, laughing all over again. While the elder was a stern man, he wasn't heartless, and he assisted Erik - at least until the thin arm was snatched away. Erik should have let him help, for the movement nearly toppled him to the floor again. "Come now, do not be stubborn. I will help you, or you can simply sleep here." Begrudgingly, Erik allowed Dakuro to assist him to his feet. Somewhat surprised at how light the young architect was, Dakuro motioned to Anna. "Take him to his room. He needs to sleep it off."

Anna bit her lip and nodded, approaching Erik, who loomed over a foot above her. She slid a hesitant arm about Erik's waist. She tucked her hand against his hip and braced herself against him, tilting her hip into his thigh. Hot breath redolent of sake wafted over her, chokingly, and she wrinkled her nose again. Moving slowly, she led him with small steps from the room. "Come, Master Erik, we must get you into bed."Erik tensed as her arm wrapped about the back of his thin waist. Scowling sharply, he pulled away from Dakuro, resting his slight weight against Anna's side. Raising his free hand, he pressed it against his face firmly and, exhaling, he squinted open his eyes to peer in the direction they were going: his room, of course. For now he was silent, inwardly brooding. Though he had been quiet about the laughter, it grated upon his nerves. He'd been laughed at far too often. Slowly but surely, they approached the screen to his room. While she opened the screen, he worked on becoming sober again - which was a lot more difficult than he had presumed. His body just wasn't used to the strength of sake – something he truly doubted he was going to be drinking again anytime soon, not if it caused him to keel over.

The screen open, Anna moved forward, Erik leaning upon her. She knew a moment of shame as they moved laboriously toward his bedroll; she should not have laughed at him. It had been ill-thought and unnecessarily mean, something not generally in her nature. Feeling a wave of sympathy for him and the headache he would surely be nursing come morning, she spoke softly as she helped him lower down. "Here we are, sir. You must lie down now. Easy..."

Slowly lowering to the floor, he settled to his knees and rested his palm against the ground. The change in altitude prompted him to close his eyes, near swooning. Dampening his lips, he swallowed back the acrid sensation of rising bile with a sharp grimace. Pulling his arm from her, he eased to his side and finally to his back, regardless of the dangers in doing so. If he lost the contents of his stomach and proceeded to suffocate, then so be it. He felt he deserved it for pulling such a silly and stupid stunt. He swallowed again, pinching his eyes closed with a chilled, disgusted shudder. Literally dragging his hand from his side and across his torso, thin fingers plucked at the belt of his robe until it was loose, though he didn't shrug off the cloth. He couldn't have even if he wanted to.

Kneeling by his prone form, Anna watched him carefully. His skin (where she could see it) was pale and damp, clammy with perspiration. He was obviously very ill from the effects of the sake. He would need to have a drink of cold water very soon or he would lose his stomach. She debated whether or not to leave him. Finally, she reached out a hand and touched his bare scalp, her fingers gentle. "What would you have me do, sir?"

Intoxicated by the pipe he had been, but never drunk - which only proved how unwise binge had been. His upper lip wrinkled, another grimace twisting his mouth as his stomach churned beneath the influence of the powerful grain alcohol. Already his head was throbbing. Her touch seemed cool against his skin, which was strange - to him, it was always the other way around. Moistening his lips, he cracked his eyes open, resting his unfocused gaze on the fuzzy image of the woman. What would he have her do? Was there anything to be done? He was beginning to think that sticking on the floor in the dining room would've been intelligent. Moving had been the catalyst to his sickness. His answer was mumbled beneath his breath.

Anna's brows lowered. His voice was barely intelligible, slurred through barely parted lips. _Did he just ask me to…?_ She frowned more deeply, and then shrugged. Perhaps he knew what was best, but it surely did not seem to her a wise thing to do to someone who was so intoxicated. Especially to this man, who flinched every time someone touched him. But he looked so pitiful lying there… She leaned forward and carefully opened his robe, her fingers making contact with his sharply protruding ribs. She quickly averted her eyes so as not to embarrass either of them, and laid his robe open, exposing his chest and abdomen. Keeping her eyes averted, she rose and scooped a ladle of cold water from the wash basin. Taking a deep breath, she flung it on him.

He hissed loudly and shot up quickly enough to occasion a wave of dizziness, which turned quickly to irritation. "Are you insane! That. Was. _Cold!_" Snarling, he shrugged off the wet kimono and used it to wipe off the water. He grunted beneath his breath as he lifted a hand to his face again. _So, it's true. A shock to the system can sober a person up quickly._ The effects of the alcohol still lingered effects, but at least he didn't feel so lethargic. Now he was tense with adrenaline.

At his angry cry of surprise, she had whirled about, her eyes flying to him, stumbling back as he leapt up like some kind of ferocious cat, shrugging off the damp robe from his thin shoulders. He snarled and wiped the droplets of water from his alabaster skin. She pressed herself against the wall behind her, staring. The only other man she'd ever seen bare-chested was Master Kito, who was short, barrel bodied, with wide shoulders and a fleshy build - nothing like Erik. Her eyes roamed over his body, at once admiring the smooth, sleek lines of his chest, and wincing over the stretch of skin over painfully prominent ribs. His stomach was drawn tight with muscle, but almost sunken. His arms, though toned, were so thin and skeletal that her bones ached in sympathy. He was hideous. He was beautiful. And he was staring hard at her, an unfathomable expression in his eyes.

Far too many things were running through his mind as she gazed upon him. He had noticed a flicker of disgust, the familiar cloak of cold settling about him, and he straightened, his lips set in a thin line. But there was something more there… something he couldn't quite understand. Absently using the bunched silk to wipe off his skin, his jaw kneaded faintly though he remained silent. "Go fetch me tea," he finally stated, his voice low with a deceptive calm as he turned away to approach his pouch. Map work, that's what his back looked like; years of lashes leaving pale scars upon already wan skin. Crouching at his pack he tossed the silk aside and tucked his hands into the leather to search for another robe.

As her small, shaking hands studiously prepared a pot of strong green tea, she couldn't forget what she had seen when he turned from her. _Scars_… such scars as she'd never seen, running over his alabaster skin, intersecting each other, over and over; testimony to a horrific piece of his past. She bore her own scars, a dozen or so stripes running the length of her back from Master Kito's riding whip; Master Kyomi had _threatened_ but never acted. Her scars were nothing compared to the hundreds, _thousands_, which marred Erik's skin. The tea whistled, but she stood heedlessly, staring with unseeing eyes out the kitchen window into the blackness of the night. Only when the pot began a ghastly shriek did she rush to take it from the heat. She set both pot and cup upon the tray and moved silently back to his room, her eyes burning. There was a lump in her throat that made swallowing difficult. She knocked softly, and then slid the screen open. He was dressed once more. She moved to his side, and lowered the tray.

He sat cross-legged, his hands resting in his lap, and regarded her with his usual studious silence. He tilted his head, tipping his eyes down to the tray. "Did you enjoy staring at me?" His bi-colored gaze flicked back to her face. His posture, though stiff, spoke nothing; not even the tone of his voice or the coolness of his eyes would give indication of his current mood.

Cheeks flushing a delicate pink, she lifted the china cup from the tray and poured steaming tea into it, her hands a trifle unsteady under his piercing gaze. With one hand, she brushed the thick curtain of her loose hair from her face, throwing it behind her shoulder. Inwardly, she was fretting with worry and shame. How stupid it had been to stare at him in such a way! Yes, she had found his body both repulsive and alluring – more the latter, if she was honest - but she been brought up not to stare. She could never have admitted such a thought; she burned with the shame of it even now. She knelt before him, proferring the hot cup. "I do not know what you refer to, sir." Her cheeks burned.

"Your body betrays you," he stated pointedly, gazing a moment on the flush of her skin before meeting her eyes. Rather than reaching at once for the cup, his hands remained upon his legs, long fingers curved against the surface of his knees. Pulling in a slow breath, still trying to become sober -- though the water had assisted quite a bit in that endeavor -- he exhaled steadily as one brow lifted from behind the mask. "Or do you think me blind?"

The cup was growing heavy in her hands, the heat making the tips of her fingers throb; yet the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, kept her from losing her pride and setting it down. Her hands remained wrapped about it. He had asked her to bring tea; it was her duty to serve it to him. If she set it down, she would be disobeying him. She knew that he would not accept a lie from her again. Her eyes lowered to the steaming cup, her cheeks stained with her embarrassment. "I... I have rarely seen a man unclothed, sir." She swallowed, flicking her tongue along her upper lip to moisten it." Only one. You are very different than he..." her voice trailed off, too ashamed of herself and that odd, unfamiliar twinge she felt deep in her lower belly at the memory of the alabaster lines of his chest and shoulders. She turned her head away, studiously avoiding his gaze. The tea cup was now scalding her fingers, but her pride kept her from crying out.

"I see..." _That is all? Nothing of how I resemble a skeleton? Or how sickly and ugly I look? _He waited as a minute ticked by. Then a second one. It was almost three minutes before he finally reached out to collect the small cup from her, his puzzled expression hidden beneath the drape of silk and papier-mache. Tucking his pinky delicately beneath the edge of the cup, he raised it to his lips, slowly tilting it and swallowing. Switching the cup from left hand to right, he placed it upon the table. His curiosity had not yet been sated. "How am I different?" He lowered his hands back to his knees.

Under the veil of her hair, her eyes closed, biting her bottom lip. She clutched her red, swollen fingers to her breast as she cast about for something - _anything_ - to say. The comparison between Master Kito and the man before her was a sharp one. Kito's soft wide upper body came to her memory, bullish muscles hidden under a layer of pampered flesh; bulldog-like shoulders, a barrel-like abdomen, large meaty fists. She raised her eyes to his at last. Perhaps it would be best if she were honest. At best he would accept her explanation; at worst he would beat her for her insolence. "He is... wide, sir. Fleshy… and soft. You are… not." She flushed. "Your body is elegant. His is not. You are too thin, sir, but you have... supple muscles. His muscles are covered with fat." She fell silent at last, gratefully dropping her head.

A thin but decidedly amused smile graced his lips. He managed not to laugh, and slowly nodded. "Fat," he repeatedly, then glanced to his own robe covered form. Lifting a hand and slipping it beyond the lapel, he smoothed uncalloused fingers across his stomach, then up along the ripple of his rib cage. He knew he was thin, and no matter how much he ate his weight rarely changed. Eventually, he didn't bother; eating too much made him sick, anyway. He pointed to her injured hand, and then splayed his hand before her, palm up, beckoning her with his index and middle fingers. He asked abruptly, "Which would you prefer?"

Her eyes locked upon his beckoning hand, the pale fingers almost inhumanly long and thin. Unconsciously, she shook her head. She read too much into the actions of others; it was a fault of hers that she had long possessed. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, acknowledging the question in their depths. She didn't know, couldn't guess his motive. He confused her and intrigued her – a dangerous combination. Finally she placed her fingers in his, the coolness of his skin almost soothing, pleasant. She ran her thumb over his sharp knuckles, marveling at how delicate his skin was. "I do not like fat men," she whispered.

"Then you like thin men." By the lilt of his voice, it was hard to tell if the words were a statement or a question. He ignored the tension coiling within his shoulders as he turned his hand, capturing hers and pulling it close. He cupped her reddened fingertips in his palm, the frigid touch easing the pulsing heat that remained. He casually lifted the teacup to his lips and took a swallow of the drink. From over its rim he observed her for a moment, and then closed his eyes, tilting the cup and draining it completely.

Anna felt curiously warm, her fingers pressed to his cool palm, the sting of her burns slowly fading. She was aware of the pink stain of her cheeks and the quickening of her pulse, but at a loss as to their meaning. Beneath her lashes she studied him, fascinated. Odd, how Kito had never caused her to just _stare_ at him. She was only ever eager to get away from him and his hot, piggish eyes. He disgusted her, made her feel filthy. But here she was, a man holding her hand, wearing nothing but a robe, her hair down, and she had no wish to be away from him. She wanted to know this exciting man. _Exciting?_ Yes, exciting. He was a bright splash of vibrancy in her dark, gray life. He scared her, yes, at times; but he also drew her like a moth to a flame. He was interesting. There was something else she was feeling, but she was unable or unwilling to recognize it.

He brought the cup back to the table and settled his palm against the ground behind him, leaning his slight weight against the bracing arm and locked elbow. She still hadn't answered. He canted his head to the left a fraction of an inch. "Well..?" The word might have been made of warm honey, from the sugary-smooth way it burned from his lips. He shifted his fingers against her hand slightly, ensuring he didn't touch too much of her skin, then focused upon it for a moment. He could faintly feel the elevated rhythm of her heart, which served to confuse him further. Then it all became clear: she feared him still. It was only too obvious, it had to be. The way he snarled at her, even after she did so well to sober him up. His temper was inexcusable, at times. And he had found that there was only one addictive method to keep him lucid.

That one word, warm and honeyed as it rolled off his tongue, drove another unexpected and curious sensation into her belly. He demanded an answer from her. She licked her lips, and then worried the lower with her teeth. Finally, she raised her gaze to his. "I have only seen two men half-unclothed, but of those two, I prefer the thin one." She blushed and looked away, her hair slipping back over her shoulder and pooling upon her outstretched wrist, a long section touching where their skin met. "I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking it back, wondering where his questions were leading.

_The thin one… _This time both brows subtly lifted before drawing down together as he shook his head slightly. Of course she would be drawn; she had no idea what he face looked like. Shifting his eyes to her hair as it fluttered down over her shoulder and against his skin, he followed its length, inadvertently reminded of her bath in the lake. It felt like a swift kick in the gut, that sudden twist that had formed there. Successfully stifling a low sound, he pulled his hand away from her, wrapping his arm over his stomach. "It is fine," he breathed out slowly. He studied the cup on the table with feigned nonchalance.

His sudden withdrawal surprised her, and she stared at her fingers for a moment before wrapping her arm protectively around her own belly. She felt suddenly very foolish. He had not been asking her for a confession of feeling. He was merely curious about her feelings - perhaps towards Kito. He would not be interested in the confused feelings of a lowly servant who was not much more than a slave. Now he looked dissatisfied and listless, bored with her company. She followed his gaze to the cup, a reminder that her duty was now done. At once, she leapt to her feet and bent before him, picking up the cup and setting it on the tray with a loud click. "Have you any more need of me, sir?" She asked breathlessly, her back to him.

His eyes followed the cup, and then dropped. "No. No more." Shaking his head, he slowly leaned back, resting upon the bed-roll. With little else to focus upon, he succumbed to the throbbing in his temples. Pressing his fingers against his brow, he closed his eyes. At least the sudden rush of heat that had flashed through his veins was subsiding. Tucking his fingers within the holes of the mask, he rubbed his eyes slowly, getting rid of the lingering traces of images flickering there.

"Then I will leave you." She took up the tray and its contents and turned away. She paused near the screen, looking back at him. After some consideration, she turned fully back. "If your head is throbbing, take your fingers and dip them into the cold water basin, then rub your temples. That should ease the ache." With that she turned, steeling herself for a long night ahead. She prayed that the memory of his alabaster skin, beaded with droplets of water, would not dominate her sleep. She closed her eyes, doing her best to banish the image. Moving as quietly as a church-mouse, she took her dishes into the kitchen, turned down the lamps, and moved back to her room, the house sleeping about her. Inside she stripped off her robe as quickly as possible and pulled on a nightshift. It was with relief that she finally crawled between the sheets of her little bed.

Tomorrow would be another long day.


	9. Broken

**Chapter Nine**: Broken

The first week within the Kyomi household had been generally uneventful, beyond the incident with the sake - which he hadn't touched again, to the amusement of Dakuro and his wife. The extra ten men he had demanded were upon the payroll, and he was still waiting for news about Kaleb's arrival. It wouldn't have been that difficult to locate the Persian, he knew, and he judged his arrival to be soon. The case of poppy cakes was set aside in the far corner of his room, covered and used as a night stand of sorts. Thus far two kimonos had been finished, one of a silver-gray with black and red hems, and the other a deep blood red with black and silver trimming. He'd get to the other colors, once he found them suitable to fiddle with. As of late, his mornings had been occupied by something different. Learning how to write.

They were ensconced in the sunroom facing the back garden, a gentle breeze blowing through the open window, the afternoon air hanging warm and sultry. Slender fingers deftly clasped the slim end of a wolf hair brush, its pointed and bristled tip slowly skimming over the parchment as he wrote. Outwardly, the strokes were graceful and sure, though inwardly he wasn't quite so. The alphabet was easy to learn, but the hundreds of kanji, hiragana and katakana he wanted to memorize were proving to be difficult. Carefully holding his sleeve with his other hand, he finished off the phrase, then shifted the parchment aside for her to take a look. A frown upon his lips, he was positive that he had something wrong. Again.

Anna slid the parchment closer to her and sat back upon her heels, the shining floors under the knees of her kimono their work surface. Traditional kanji scripting was done upon the floor, rarely upon a desk. In her right hand she held her own brush, and she dipped the wooden end carefully between her lips as she perused his work, her brow knitting. There was no doubt that his style was elegant, precise, and quite beautiful, but his accuracy and memorization of the characters was proving daunting even for him, as it was for any new student. But in only a week's time, he had learned faster than she ever could have imagined, than truly she had believed possible. He was a willing pupil, if a bit easily irritated at times. "Very good, Erik." Her voice pleased, she patted his shoulder, then straightened. "But, this was to have been leaf, not leaves. You pluralized it. Now fix it for me." With the tip of her brush she indicated the infraction, then slid it back to him, a firm look in her soft eyes.

Scowling sharply, he pulled the parchment closer to him a bit more quickly than he had intended. Eyeing the character she was speaking of, he sighed and dipped the very tip of the brush in the ink. He smoothed the edge of the brush against the side, getting rid of the excess ink before he leant forward, collecting the sleeve again between the light pinch of fingers as he added the character next to the incorrect one. Never did he correct over it, as he wished to be able to look at both, implanting it firmly into his memory. Squinting slightly he nodded to himself, then straightened with a release of the sleeve to scratch his fingers through the short strands that now dusted his scalp. Not too long, mere peach fuzz compared to how long it used to be. For the tenth time that day he considered shaving his head bald again.

Anna leaned in close and looked over his work. She gave a soft sound of approval in the back of her throat and nodded. She sat up and looked over at him. The movement of his hand brought her eyes to his head, which was now covered with short, tiny strands of dark hair. The turn of his head in a glance toward her allowed the sunlight to suddenly hit his scalp and his head became a halo of stubby dark auburn. She couldn't help the soft laughter that erupted from her lips, and without thinking she ran a palm over the fuzzy pate. "You look like a large peach, you know."

Beneath the rim of the mask's lip his own twisted and he peered over at her, ducking his head from her palm much akin to an indignant child who hated getting its hair rustled. "This only encourages me to shave it again," he muttered faintly, his hand lowering to gather the dangling sleeve of crimson and ebony. He had done well with the making of the kimono, he observed. Perhaps not as fancy as he could have made it, but that would be changed soon, once he began with the embroidering. Dragging another long parchment over, he pressed the bristles into the paint-like ink and grazing away the excess liquid, he started from the top, making his way steadily down the paper with the names of those of the household. Once the five were finished he nodded faintly. At least he could write it without pausing. "Europeans should learn this calligraphy. It is quite elegant and beautiful. If not a bit difficult to master. Though I shall. With time."

Peering over his shoulder, she glanced down the row of names, and gave a small nod. "Perfect. Not one mistake." She dipped her own brush into her ink bottle, smoothing off the excess, then bent to a fresh sheet of parchment. With slow, careful strokes she scripted out a favorite phrase of the Japanese. It was one of many complicated characters and it took her a couple of minutes to complete. When she was finished she sat back and studied it, tapping the end against her pursed lips, then she bent over it once more, wiping a loose strand of hair from her eyes. She painted a tiny house, delicate and intricate, with a mirror winking in the sunlight atop the roof. She sat back and replaced the brush, then leaned over and dusted the wet ink with the soft powder that would dry it immediately. She picked it up in her hands, then shook it, knocking the excess dust from the paper and set it aside.

"Just what is the purpose of that?" Lowering a hand he gestured to the tiny mirror she had drawn, then dipped his brush within the paint as he gathered up yet another parchment. An avid learner, he was one who would keep practicing something until it was solid within his memory. Turning over the paper he had gotten incorrect, so it wouldn't be in his line of sight, he worked on other characters first, to 'forget' the phrase he had worked on moments ago. His name was interesting to look over. The three characters were different from each other; one smooth and flowing, the other more wild, and the final was almost a mixture of the two. It was ironic.

She watched his curiosity as he wrote out his name, choosing not to enlighten him to the fact that when one's name had a character that was a combination of the two previous characters, one was thought of as an enigma. A two sided mystery. She could not find within herself a better phrase with which to describe this man.

Her gaze lifted to him, his eyes focused upon the paper, so focused that she believed she would need to raise her voice to even be heard over his thoughts. She looked back at the tiny mirror she had drawn. "The mirrors are to ward away demons and evil spirits. The _oni_ cannot bear to look at their own reflections, therefore they do not go near a mirror." She suddenly became very aware of that day on the dusty market street, when she had whispered to him that what Ryoko had called him was "demon." Once again, she felt that surge of compassion for him. This last week, since that night spent in his room, her hand in his, her body feeling things she'd never before known, they had shared a tolerable, if not easy, and comfortable companionship. He rarely spoke two words to her, and usually they were in regards to his lessons or a task for her. But she had no wish to see him hurt, as she believed he had been that day, despite his seeming indifference. She pointed to the phrase. "It says 'Reflections reveal no evil'."

The dust rested within the brush, and swiping it out, he laid the brush aside slowly, suddenly losing the urge to write anymore. It was about time. He had a good twenty or more sheets scattered around him. Placing his hands upon his lap he regarded the phrase silently then turned his attention to his hands as he smoothed a thumb along the side, feeling the sealed over cuts, remembering when he had seen the 'demon' within the mirror for the first time. He would have bled to death had it not been for Marie. The first lick of compassion he had ever received; or was it simply because he was staining his mother's carpet? "Reflections reveal a number of things," he murmured faintly, his hands turning to rest his palms against the silk covering his legs. Perhaps he was closer to this _'oni'_ that he was called, for even though there had been mirrors around him, he had never looked into one for more than a fraction of a second.

Beneath her lashes, Anna studied him, the rigid set of his body, the tenseness in his spine, the soft ache of his voice. That wave of compassion washed over her once more, and not for the first time, she wondered what lay beneath that mask. She would never ask to know, or to see. There were some things that one _never_ asked. And his face was none of her affair. The lines between them were sharp and defined. To cross that line and question him about something so intensely private would be an unpardonable offense. He had an intense disgust for her as it was. He shied away from her touch, no matter how impersonal.

In a moment, the hours spent by his side teaching him were over, and she was once again a servant. Nothing reminded her of that more than when she heard Master Kito's voice call to her, harshly and sharply, from down the hall. "Anna! A bath! Now!" She rose to her feet and gave the man beside her a half-hearted smile. She bowed slightly, and then hurried away before her younger master's temper was further flared.

Silently he watched her as she headed off. Reaching down he picked up the parchment she had written upon, only to tear it into long strips. Folding them in half he tore them again until he was left with numerous squares of paper. Piling them carefully, he set a stone upon the top then collected the other lengths of paper. Placing them into his book he cleaned up the rest of his things, and with the two brushes back in their box, he covered the paints and pressed to a stand, lifting these things with him. Kito's amusement in irritating him had finally stopped, it seemed. The boy hadn't bothered trying to provoke him in any manner -- not that he had attempted much to begin with, but there were always those disdainful looks and knowing smirks. Erik hadn't snuck out again to watch her as she bathed, and what glimpses he did catch on accident were quickly turned away from. He didn't want to chance being caught by either that annoying lout or, even worse, her. Carrying his things to his room, he slid the screen open and stepped inside. His interests turned from teaching to playing, and collecting the violin case, he eased the carved instrument from the velvet, as well as the bow. Striding through the hall toward the sunroom, he plucked at the strings, changing the tuning with a fine ear.

Anna bent beside the sunken basin in Master Kito's room, pouring the remainder of his steaming water into the bath. His soaps and oils were already set aside, very different from the selection that Erik usually favored. The younger man preferred dark, heavy, cloying scents in comparison to the citrus herb that the architect enjoyed. She stood to her feet, her buckets clutched in her hands, and the soft plucking of strings reached her ears as Erik strode past Kito's room. _He is going to play. _Listening to the new master play his violin was an indulgence of hers. She would often place herself where he could not see her and sit, cleaning the floors or repairing odd garments. The beautiful music that issued from his fingers was like nothing she had ever heard. It was pure and flawless, and achingly beautiful.

She gave Master Kito a bow quickly as she turned to him, but stopped, frozen. He was completely nude. He gave her a smirk as she lowered her eyes. She hated when he did that! It was repulsive that he believed she should want to look at his body. With her eyes averted, and a terrible taste in her mouth, she hurried for the door, unable to move fast enough. His laughter followed her into the hallway, taunting, almost like that of a mean child who had just beaten a kitten. Tears burned her eyes at the shame of it. She chose to forego listening to Erik, instead dropping her buckets in the kitchens and running outside to the stables. A ride would set her aright before the Master Kyomi returned home. Kito's laughter rang in her ears all the way to the horses.

Erik recognized that laughter. It was one he was becoming very familiar with any time Kito was up to something. Pausing just outside of the sunroom's door, he glanced over his shoulder and lifted a brow as he caught the tail end of a fluttering servant's kimono. Pressing his lips together softly he turned his eyes to Kito's closed door and shook his head. That boy was becoming an annoyance._ No, correction, he_is_ an annoyance. _Opening the door and stepping into the room he paused briefly upon seeing Nio there, but that didn't stop him from resting close to the opening of the wall where he could have the warm breeze course over his face. Folding his legs comfortably, he tucked the cushioned curve of the violin beneath his chin and poised the bow, only to be distracted by her voice. "Enjoying your stay thus far?" Inwardly he sighed, and lowered the hairs of the bow to the strings. A gentle vibrato of notes resounded through the clear air, mingling with the birdsong outside. "_Ecstatically_," he muttered with pointed sarcasm,his eyes closing as he pulled forth notes from his soul.

Anna closed herself off in a stall, and knelt down by a stack of hay. From underneath, she pulled a wrapped bundle of clothes: a loose pair of linen trousers and a tunic like cotton top that she wore when she rode. The kimono, as snugly as it fit about her legs didn't allow any room for mounting or correctly straddling the horse. She had never learned how to ride sidesaddle as a girl, and now only knew how to ride astride, her legs on either side of the horse's flanks. She changed quickly and quietly. Mistress Nio allowed her to ride; perhaps she understood, as another woman, how much more Anna's freedom was restricted than her own. The Master, however, did not. When she did indulge, it was in the clothes of a boy that she dressed, lest she be caught. A large, beautiful gray head greeted her from over a stall and she smiled at Muran, a small, petite mare that she often rode. Pressing a kiss to the velvety snout, she led her from the stall, saddled and bridled her, then mounted, settling her feet into the stirrups.

Muran was the perfect size for her small stature and light build. A delicate little horse, she had delightful confirmation and a pleasing gait and good spirits. The other occupant of the row stuck out his massive, chestnut head, and she avoided the great, rolling eyes and sharp teeth that snapped out at Muran. Noko was a large, vicious stallion that Anna avoided like the plague. But Muran called out a seductive whinny, and her rider rolled her eyes. "He's much too powerful for a sweet girl like you," she murmured, patting the glossy gray neck. Peeking out from the stables to ensure no one was outside the house, she gave a soft call to Muran and they were off, horse and rider moving in time perfectly. She would ride for an hour or so, then return home, much more content than when she had left.

Nio was going to say something more to him. Though when he began playing more fluidly, her voice became trapped within her throat and she listened avidly, watching as his long fingers carefully balanced the bow between the tips of thumb, index and middle fingers, the last two fingers delicately lifted into the air. The song was a slow one, a never before heard song, not even by him. His hands had a life of their own, at times. Especially when it came to pouring out what rested within and lingered behind the stoic silence. All the hope, pain and anger were set within every weeping chord. At one point even the master of the house came out, listening within the doorway. Erik remained completely unaware of his audience, even when Nio began sniffling, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her kimono. Minutes, even hours could have passed, and he wouldn't have paused, not with his current frame of mind. Mirrors, demons, evil, reflections and the horror they had caused him. He needed to get it out in the only way he knew of that would be safe. It was better than bottling it all up, only to explode at some random moment simply because someone _breathed_ the wrong way.

Anna returned from her ride, refreshed, her face flushed, her eyes bright with the exercise, her hair mussed and slipping from her braid. She trotted Muran within the cool, dark stables and dismounted. It was the short work of a few minutes to unsaddle her mount, change back into the gray kimono, right her hair, and hide the boy's clothes once more under the hay. As she approached the house, she took steadying breaths, her heart still racing, her soul still exalting, from the uninhibited freedom of her ride. Smothering the smile that the last hour had put upon her face, she smoothed her hands over the waist of her kimono, tightening the sash before she stepped into the house from the garden entrance.

Pure tears of sound reached her ears. Her heart slowed in her chest as the notes rang, wept, through the house. Her eyes sank closed as the mournful song of the violin wrapped about her senses pulling her in a restless, relentless tide. She followed the music to its destination, the sunroom facing the gardens. There she leaned against the doorframe, Master Kyomi in front of her, Mistress Nio in the room, weeping quietly, Master Kito with his usual scowl. Her eyes found the form of the man seated there by the window, garbed in ebony and scarlet, his head tilted in ecstasy, his eyes closed behind the silken black mask. She placed a hand upon the frame and rested her head there, her eyes and mouth softening as she watched him from the shadows of the door. _He plays as if his soul is bleeding._ And perhaps it was.

Another half hour passed before he stopped, emptied and emptied until he couldn't get rid of anything else, leaving him with that numbing feeling in the pit of his stomach. Releasing a pent breath, he slid the bow away from the neck of the instrument and resting it aside he rubbed the back of his neck slowly, his eyes closed still against the burn that rested behind the lids. The others were still there, he could sense them, and it was because of them that he didn't simply break down. The strength in his shoulders had been chiseled, curving subtly with the emotionally tired lowering of his head. Placing the violin down gently, he eased up from the floor, and tucking his hands behind him, traveled into the garden, letting the sun beat down upon his cool skin. Nothing was said to them, and, in turn, Nio and Dakuro didn't speak. But Kito watched as the creature left the sunroom, walking slowly out to the garden, leaving behind his violin and his audience. _His enraptured audience._ His lip curled with disgust as he watched his mother and father leave the room, his father's arm about his mother's waist, comforting her soft weeping. They did not speak one word to him as they left, but walked past him as if he was nothing. As they had been treating him since that _thing_ had come, the _thing _that his father spent more time with even than him. Where was his grooming for becoming a nobleman? Where was his training as a landowner? That ugly bastard had been taught nearly everything that Kito should have been taught!

It wasn't going to be tolerated any longer.

He turned and sneered at the uncovered violin, lying vulnerable, out in the open. _Erik_ certainly knew how to captivate with that flimsy piece of wood and string didn't he? What a misfortune if it should break. Behind him he was aware of Anna disappearing also, off to do her chores. _Hmm, he seems a bit fond of the servant girl. _It was obvious from the evening he had found him watching her bathe that he wanted the girl. _How horrible if his trust in sweet Anna should be lost_, he thought with a sneer. With a decisive, quick move, he picked the instrument up from the floor, snapped the long neck in half, and laid it back. He took a step back, surveying his work upon the floor.

Master Kito called out to Anna as she was returning, needle and a garment in her hands, to get some sewing done. She turned at the sound of his voice and approached him cautiously, curious as to why his tone had been so friendly. A kind note in his voice never signified anything good. _Never_. She neared him and he ordered her into the sunroom, telling her about a mess of hers that needed cleaning up before it was found by his father. Frowning she rushed into the room, wondering what she had done wrong. And she saw it. _Oh no..._ Erik's violin lay broken upon the floor, the delicate neck snapped, the strings frayed. With a sharp cry of dismay, she cast aside her sewing and dropped to her knees. She picked it up, gently and reverently, in her hands, tears burning her eyes. _Kito_. How could he have done such a thing! How could he have destroyed something that created something so beautiful!

His touch upon the leaves had paused when her cry rang out across the yard. He glanced around the cherry tree to the sunroom where he saw Anna standing with something in her hands. His violin. His violin whose neck was dangling over the side of her hand. Stepping back he turned, crossing along the stone laden path to approach the room again, his eyes locked upon the instrument. While it hadn't been purchased by him, and held no sentimental value, it was still _his_ violin. "What have you done?" He lifted his voice slightly, above the usual tone he held, so she could hear him within the distance that was separating them, one that was becoming shorter with each long-legged stride.

She stood slowly to her feet, and the neck dropped even further, the strings squealing sharply. Then she heard him, his voice no longer low as it usually was, but vibrating with dismay. Anger. She looked up to see Erik closing in on her, his long, narrow legs carrying him to her swiftly, his eyes...she couldn't even imagine ever seeing someone look at her like that. She raised pleading eyes to him as he came upon her. "Erik, no! I didn't..."

"I just _heard_ you do it. You will stand there and tell me you did not, when you are clearly holding the evidence?" In any other clear frame of mind he might have put two and two together. However, anger was something that swiftly clouded his mind in a reddish haze. Snatching the violin from her, his other hand shot out, taking an iron grip upon the front of her kimono and he jerked her close with a narrowing of his eyes. "Do you know _how long_ it will take for me to fix this? Do you know _how long_ it would take for another to be shipped here? Weeks! Even _months_!" Too long for him, a man who lived and breathed music. Fingers curled tightly, not only within the cloth, but on the neck of the violin as well, which wailed in faintly splintering protest.

She wrapped her fingers about his, dug deeply in her kimono. She was sobbing now in earnest, tears pooling in her eyes, then escaping down her cheeks. "Erik! It wasn't me! I would never do such a thing to you! _Never!" _She reached out a hand and touched his chest, laying her palm flat against his kimono. "It was Kito! He called me to him, then left! I found the violin like this! Only a person who hates you could do that! _I don't hate you!" _Her voice broke on her sobs and she buried her face in her hands. Why did it hurt so much? Why did the raw hate burning in his eyes make her want to curl into herself and disappear? Why would he think she would do this awful thing!

The snarled lip lowered as the fire that had consumed him was swiftly snuffed out. _Kito. But of course. I should have known. Well, if she did not hate you before, she does now, Erik. Acting like a _complete _monster. _Closing his eyes he drew in a slow breath and, stepping back, he turned around to sit upon the edge of the room's lip, half within the light of the sun. _Why do you always have to ruin everything? _he asked himself coldly, and cradling the violin to his chest he tucked his chin. He turned his head to look upon the grass through a glistening gaze, then it dropped to rest upon the broken neck and winced at the memory that simple sight provided. His poor, beloved Sasha.

"He will pay for this," he whispered with a quiet, growled finality.


	10. The Grasshopper

**Chapter Ten**: The Grasshopper

Through the tears blurring her vision, Anna watched Erik sink to sit facing the gardens outside, his mangled violin in his hands. His rage was gone, but she still felt it keenly, in every shuddering breath she took. Her chest burned from the vice-like grip he'd had upon her kimono, cutting of her air and binding her soft flesh. She huddled against a wall, her eyes upon his form. His whispered, growled statement chilled her. There was a definite, murderous quality to those words. The loss of the violin was more than simply the loss of a possession. He looked so..._broken_. Unable to leave him looking so, her hands trembling, she pushed herself away from the wall and approached him, cautiously, like one would approach a wounded, caged animal. If one moved too quickly, one would be bitten. Slowly, she sank to her knees behind him and laid a hand along his spine, smoothing it down the painfully apparent knobs. "You mustn't Erik. If you hurt him, you will be imprisoned."

The violin creaked and strings squealed in protest as his fingers clenched tighter around it, skeletal fingers turning whiter beneath the pressure as he hunched his shoulders forward, protectively. A faint squeak came from his mouth as his teeth ground together and he kept his face turned away from her, even though she couldn't see the warm rivulets of tears coursing beneath the mask. She was right, and he knew it, but he didn't wish to admit it. The boy had gone too far. "I will not hurt him." There was something left off of that sentence, something much more sinister. The press of her hand against his back caused him to become more tense than he already was, but he didn't pull away from her. Pulling in a slow breath he closed his eyes, then brought the violin down to look upon the ruined instrument. Even if he could fix it, it wouldn't sound the same again.

"I know you want to hurt him, Erik. _I _want to hurt him for doing this. He is a child. A spoiled, mean natured _pig_ of a child!" She was shocked at the vehemence of her own voice, and she took a steadying breath, letting her rarely shown anger simmer down within her. She scooted up so that she was beside him, keeping her hand upon his back, moving it in slow circles gently across the flesh beneath. She bit her lip as she stared down at the shattered instrument. A memory came to her of a day in the market, a couple of years ago. Something she had seen that she was now struggling to bring to her recollection. Finally, she made a soft sound of recognition and grabbed the bony hand clutching the violin. "In the market," she began, excitement in her voice, "there's a vendor who sells stringed instruments. I once saw a violin there. Not as lovely as this one, but passable. I'm sure you could make it sing as beautifully as this one. Shall we go?"

Only a faint flinch was given when her hand clasped his own, and he cracked his eyes open to focus upon her. "Why are you helping me..?" he eventually asked after a few moments of silence. Easing his hand away from her, he took hold of the violin again and brushed his fingertips along the wood. Not as good, but it would still be something to play. Releasing the mass of broken wood and strings to his lap, he kneaded his fingers against the back of his neck, attempting to loosen the tension that had set there like stone. Moistening his lips with a stroke of tongue's tip, he brought his hand up to rake his nails through the thin layer of hair and along his scalp.

She frowned at him. Why would he ask such a thing? She had told him that she did not hate him; she had meant it. It had never been in her nature to use another for her own ends. But perhaps it was all he had known of life. He reacted to her at every turn with flinches, never accepting her touches, which were only meant in kindness. He treated her with contempt half the time, cold and withdrawn, silently disapproving of her. He had accused her of something terrible, made her cry, then refused to even acknowledge her attempt to right a hurtful situation for him. _Why am I helping him, when he only wishes to disdain me at every turn_? Hurt and anger surfacing, she rose quickly to her feet. "I'm sorry. I shall not speak of it again. Why would you need the assistance of a servant anyway?" She turned away quickly before she could begin to cry and left him.

_That's not what I meant.._. Raising his head he looked over toward her with a bit of a frown. "Wait.." But she was already gone. His shoulders slumped more than they had been already and he shook his head gently. Tucking his hand beneath the neck of the violin, he cradled the base as well, and pressing to a stand he folded the ruined instrument. Closing his eyes, he released a breath slowly and made his way back to his room. Nudging the screen open he brought the violin to the table and placed it gently upon the surface. Crouching next to his pack he sank his hand within, digging for his pouch. With her or without her, he was going to go purchase the violin. He needed music to soothe his mind.

In her room, her duties done until the evening meal, which was still a handful of hours away, she sat beside her cot, her hand running over the floorboards. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet with tears. It was one of those moments in which she regretted, more than anything, her life as an unpaid servant. Merely a possession, _a thing_, to those around her, undeserving of respect, undeserving of affection and touch. She wiped at her damp nose as her fingertips encountered the barely noticeable seam in the otherwise perfectly smooth boards. Gently, she pried it up and set aside the loose panel, then reached in. From the tiny space she pulled out a small wrapped bundle, only six inches long or so. Carefully she unwrapped it. Inside was her mother's crucifix.

The delicate pearls caught the light from her tiny window, and she smoothed the beads through her fingers, one by one, until she encountered the cross. Christ's legs were gone, removed in the killing blow that had ended her mother's life fifteen years ago. A sword, glinting in rain, stained with fresh blood. A fleeting image from the past momentarily gripped her and she cried out softly at the memory. With a soft shudder, she replaced the broken necklace, wrapped it, and set it back within the space. She fitted the board back into its place, and stood to her feet. Looking in her tiny mirror, she wiped at her damp eyes, tears staining her cheeks, the skin pale gold from too many hours unprotected in the sun. Then taking a breath she left her room and approached Erik's. No matter her hurt, he needed that violin. It was his escape, just as the pond and riding were hers. She knocked softly upon the screen.

His clothing changed, he slipped on the newest kimono, black lined with a silvery gray, the cuffs embroidered with delicate weaving designs. After securely tying the belt, he strapped the leather bracer against his thin arm and slipped the stiletto within. Brushing the sleeve down when he heard the knock, he glanced over to the screen curiously. "Enter." Turning his head back around, he adjusted the bracer beneath the silk so it rested comfortably along the length of his inner arm. Perhaps he was being a bit paranoid, but after several failed assassination attempts, he wasn't taking any chances, not even in a foreign country. Reaching his hands back he gave a taut tug at the straps of the mask then adjusted it slightly upon his face.

She slid the screen open silently and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. She was nervous. After her outburst, rude for a servant, she feared that he would rebuff her and send her on her way. But the instrument maker was deep within the market, and Erik was still learning and unfamiliar with the coinage and the language. If he became lost, and his rather abrupt nature earned him trouble with any guards, she would be responsible. Raising her eyes to him, she watched, curious as he adjusted the mask. Her hidden gaze swept his form. He wore the handmade kimonos very well, his lean, tall, narrow frame draped perfectly in black silk. She couldn't help but look at him with admiration in her eyes. "I will accompany you to the market. I'm very sorry for my behavior earlier." She sniffed, her eyes still burning. She felt like a child coming to own up to a wrongdoing.

Raising his head slightly he looked forward as she apologized and nodding gently he exhaled faintly. "And.. I am sorry as well. My behavior was inexcusable." Turning his head, his bare chin brushed against his shoulder as he glanced back in her direction. Gathering the pouch, he brushed aside the folds of the kimono to tie the leather bag to his braided belt. Easing the silk down again he smoothed his fingers along the cloth, straightening it, then turning to her, he cast a glance to the violin. Kito would pay, there was no doubt about that in his mind. He wouldn't let such an infraction go so easily, and even if it took weeks, months, or years, he would, indeed, gain his revenge. "Let us go, then," he muttered while starting off for the screen with a purposeful stride.

In the bustle of the marketplace, she walked beside of him, neither of them speaking. They had encountered no one in the house to hinder their excursion. The Masters Kyomi were in the garden, taking tea, Kito had been nowhere in sight. Anna inwardly snorted. No doubt he had run away, hidden himself away in his room until the anger had passed. Looking over at Erik out of the corner of her eye, she doubted that the anger that she still felt simmering in the rigid set of his body would pass easily or quickly. She doubted that Kito would escape punishment. She turned back to the street before her, watching her feet. As they approached the next street she pointed out an alleyway to him. Softly she spoke, "There, near that book dealer where you purchased _Arabian Nights_, is a back path that will lead us to another block of the market. But mind your purse. Pickpockets and worse are usually within." She unconsciously drew closer to his side, fingers grasping at his sleeve. She, who was used to this place, felt unsafe even in that particular alley.

He paused a moment at its mouth, looking down its length toward the shadowed portions, noting as well the vagabonds lingering here and there, protecting themselves from the harsher rays of the sun. While she inched close, he suckled gently upon the tip of a canine then glanced down to her, feeling the light tug against his sleeve. Pickpockets and worse.. What could be worse than he? With her attached to his side, he brought his hands before him, tucking them within the belled sleeves of the kimono. While thin fingers of one hand languidly curled against bare skin, the other rested along the onyx and silver hilt of the stiletto. Tipping his chin down faintly, partially lowering his head between his shoulders in a feral gesture of challenge, he kept his eyes forward while watching, his eyes open for any sign of trouble. "This violin, tell me what it looks like."She blinked up at him, her small fingers still plucking at his sleeve. "Oh...it is a pale golden wood. Small. The vendor burns a small character into each instrument. A grasshopper." She peered down the alley, and mistakenly caught the eye of a rough looking young man who eyed her with interest. She blanched, but continued to speak to Erik, who loomed, a dark, menacing presence at her side, a comforting presence even. "It has been a couple of years, though. He may have more. Or we may have made this trip in vain." She sincerely hoped they had more. She would sorely miss the haunting sounds of his music in the night.

If he had noticed the man he didn't say anything, nor did he draw her closer to him, though his fingers gave a slow curl and uncurl against the stiletto, as if antsy to deploy it. Slowly he nodded and brushed his fingers along the smooth onyx. "Golden? Mm.. do you believe that he might have cherry wood? The deep brownish red the other violin was?" He glanced down to her briefly, then brought his eyes forward again, this time in thought rather than intently studying his surroundings. Though his attention hadn't been dragged completely from that task.

She glanced about her and noticed that others had stopped to stare at them; a small, light haired, pale skinned European servant girl in the company of an unusually tall, skeletal masked man, dressed in black silk. Last week, she had been conscious of the curious and often censorious looks of the market goers, but not as severely as she was now. Last time they had moved about, only staying briefly in each place. Their stance in the middle of the street was being remarked upon, and she could feel eyes between her shoulder blades. Shifting uncomfortably, she released his sleeve, conscious that he didn't want it there and tucked her hands inside her own sleeves. "I cannot say, sir. But we should hurry. The market will be closing soon." She shivered under the stare of the man in the alley.

"Hrm.." He nodded once and continued the pace they had taken up. His stride languid and long, but slowed down enough so she'd be able to keep up with him. He didn't feel like losing her within the crowd; or having himself become lost. Curling his fingers against the haft, the long lengths draped over the strips of silver wound around the enforced stone, he glanced down to her again in an idle study. "Tell me, this market sells.. animals, yes? Perhaps exotic things? Such as snakes?"

She cast him a surprised look, her gray eyes widening slightly. "Snakes?" She looked straight ahead, wrinkling her brow slightly. _What would he need..._Perhaps she had better leave that thought unspoken. "I believe so, though I confess, I have never looked for such a purchase before. But I do think there is a vendor who has pythons and boas, some tarantulas, maybe a lizard." Her thoughts wandered idly to a booth that sold kittens, tiny mewing balls of fluff. The delicate creatures were sold as food for pedigreed dogs, little half-breed kittens with no value. She often went and held the tiny poppets, cuddling them until she was sharply reprimanded by their vendor and ordered to leave. _But snakes? _"Python?" One brow lifted and he slowly nodded. Thoughtlessly brushing the tip of his thumb nail against the ridges of silver, he finally glanced over to the lingering few with their curious eyes, then disregarded them as they approached the end of the alley. "Perhaps I will go there as well. You do not have to linger, and may return to the house, should you desire. I will not become too terribly lost."

She looked up at him, then cast her eyes to the ground. She gave a gentle nod, kicking slightly at a loose pebble with the toe of her sandal. "I will leave you then, sir." She accepted his dismissal with only a bit of hurt. She had longed to see these exotic creatures that he spoke of, but if he wished to be alone, she was in no position to argue with a master of hers. She gave him a soft bow, and turned, leaving him standing at the end of the alleyway. She herself turned back into the shadows along the way they had come, to head home. She reasoned with herself that she had much to do as it was. The evening meal needed preparing, she needed a bath, and Mistress Kyomi was expecting her to mend some of her kimonos tonight.

Somewhat disappointed that she had chosen to leave after all, with his open ended offer, he glanced back to her, then turned his head around, gazing into the crowd. Pressing his lips together faintly, he lifted a hand to scratch along his jaw, then clasped his fingers against his wrist, hidden beneath the draping of black and gray silk. He lingered just before the open maw of the alley, thoughtfully running his attention over the shops that lay before him. He saw the one she spoke of just across the way. There were others that caught his eye. A fur merchant for one, and he half wondered if they had anything useful. Perhaps he could make something for the winter. From what he was told, it did tend to snow in Japan.

When she stepped back into the cool of the house, she knew something was not right. The rooms and halls were silent, so silent that her bare feet, padding down the smooth wooden floor, was a steady drum in her ears. Peering into the back garden sunroom, then slowly making her way through the rest of the home, she found no one. Finally, she inwardly shrugged and went to her room. She could not start the evening meal until she was told what to prepare. She could not sew the kimonos until Mistress gave them to her. She considered her bath, but it was still too light; too many eyes could find her. She stifled a small yawn as she slid open her door. _Hmm, perhaps a nap. _She raised her eyes to the small cot. Master Kito was sprawled across the white linen. Dangling from his fingers was the crucifix. She gasped and reached for it, desperate to get it from his unworthy hands, but he yanked it out of her grasp and sat up, a satisfied grin on his face. He tsked softly at her. "Give that back," she seethed between her teeth.

"Come and get it," smugly that sly grin returned to his lips and he curled his thick fingers around the bauble, holding it firmly so she wouldn't get any ideas of trying to pull it from his hand. Letting just the cross dangle, he looked upon it. "You know you're not supposed to have things, especially something like this. You should be beaten," he stated pointedly, black eyes returning to her, glinting with deviousness. There was no denying that he enjoyed tormenting the woman, even more so now that it seemed she had taken more of an interest in that living corpse than in him, just like his family. Satisfaction still remained upon recalling the savage accusation he had heard on his way out of the house and he gazed openly upon her clothed form as well as her face to look for any signs of the _thing_ having struck her. A bit of a frown formed in disappointment when he didn't notice a mark.

She approached the bed cautiously, keeping a distance from him, should he reach out for her to strike her, which he had, on more occasions than she cared to remember. Her eyes remained on that tiny, broken cross, hanging from between his fingers. "Please," she whispered, changing her tactic, "it is the only memento I have left of my family. Please, Master, give it back to me." Her eyes were welling with tears. If he wanted, he could take the precious item away from her and never give it back. She would lose forever her only tie to her wonderful father and her beautiful mother. Anger bloomed once more in her chest, and she stilled, straightened, then looked directly at him, her eyes narrowing. "Master Erik knows it is you who broke his violin. He is enraged and may do a serious harm. Do you honestly believe he would think it me who did such a thing? I told him that it was you. He knows." She knew that he was not stupid, but frightening him was the only course of action she could take. She remembered too late that _he _was above Erik, and could have _Erik_ turned away.

His laugh came swiftly, maliciously. "What is he going to do? Glare at me again? That _'thing' _is so thin that he would break easily if struck." Her approach caused his hand to ease closer to himself, and he snuck the cross up into his meaty palm. "And if he did have the gall to do anything, I'm sure my father would see to it that he was treated accordingly." If he was disturbed by the threat, he didn't show it, or at least tried not to. He remembered the way the creature had stared at him, as if burning holes straight through his body, or imagining just how many ways he could be skinned alive. Managing to slake the shiver that wanted to come, he narrowed his eyes, more irritated than before. "Or maybe I'll break more than just his stupid violin next time."

Her eyes flew to Kito's meaty, heavy fists. She remembered the sight of Erik's body, nude from the waist up, that night a week ago. His prominent ribs, his concave belly, the knobs that made up his long spine. The she imagined one of those fists plowing into those delicate ribs and she shivered, almost able to hear the bone snapping. Those hands had caused bruises and breaks upon her skin many a time. If used with _real_ force, they would be severely damaging. And she gave in. Her crucifix, as precious as it was, was not worth the harm that would be caused if she did not submit and let this bullying child of a man have his way. She lowered her eyes, once more the servant, defeated.

Her submissiveness brought a lift of brow -- nothing he should be surprised about, but the fire that had been within her words and her eyes flickered to a simmer at the mention of hurting that skinny man. He leaned back, his lips pressed firmly together, and letting the broken cross dangle from his hand again, pawed at it with a finger, sending it swaying with each touch. "You're enamored with that filthy little creature, aren't you? Always in his room, touching him when he is being taught. I've seen you." Curling his fingers around the charm again, he snorted faintly. "He is probably ugly beneath that silly mask. Probably why he wears it. His face is just as ugly, if not more so, than the rest of him."

She shook her head, her eyes shut tight with shame. She knew, as well as he did, that Erik had to be hiding a very serious deformity under the mask. She had never even allowed her imagination to attempt to conjure up his face, but she knew that it had to be something out of a nightmare. And she hated to imagine him in that way. _What do I feel for him? _When it came to him, her thoughts were confused, jumbled in her head. She knew nothing of men, of what women felt for men, of what lay between a man and a woman. And her confusion only made her feel more shame, more fear. Kito would use her feelings, manipulate them. She had been too free with her touches, too prone to giving in to her fascination for him. Erik himself even disdained her for it! How horrifying it was to know that Kito had seen her humiliation. She stared at the floor, and shook her head once more. She would not answer him. If he could no longer draw blood, perhaps he would leave her be.

She was correct in her assumption. As she continued baring her throat he lost interest in the gnawing and frowned deeply. _No fun if she doesn't react. _He glanced at the cross within his hand and smiled cruelly. As he pressed to a stand, his fingers took a strong hold upon the necklace, and with a swift tug, it snapped, sending a rain of pearls to the ground. Dusting off his hand he stepped over one as it rolled into a divot and skimmed against the cracked path. "You can have it." Absently waving a thick hand to the ground he laughed low as he stepped toward her, passing very closely by her side.

He left her, leaving the floor littered with dozens of tiny pearls behind him. She heard him move down the hall, heard his heavy footsteps as he crossed the entryway and exited into the garden. And still she did not move, only stood against the wall, a hand pressed to her mouth, her dry eyes riveted upon the destruction of something that had been precious and dear to her for fifteen years. A sweet reminder of better times to be taken and out looked upon with love and sadness, pain and longing, then carefully put back. She stared at what remained and she felt the agony rising, a sick wave starting in her lower belly and steadily growing outward until it felt as if it would drown her.

Her eyes caught sight of the cross, its ragged end bent and thrust into the floor, and she broke. With a wail of pure grief and pain she sank to her knees, tears rolling down her cheek and joining the pearls upon the floor. Her body doubled over with the fierceness of the cramps in her stomach and she reached for the cross, her fingers wrapping about it and pulling it free of the wood. She clutched it to her breast and sobbed, her entire form shaking with the force of her pain. Why would he do this? _Why!_ As she cried, she remembered the cross as she had found it, in the pool of a dying woman's blood.


	11. The Scorpion

**Chapter Eleven**: The Scorpion

A subtle darkness had settled over the land, the passing of hours drawing the sun deep beyond the horizon until it roused the surrounding crickets to chirp their songs. The crunch of feet along the graveled pathway caused a few of them to grow silent. Even though the stride was quiet, they could feel the gentle vibrations. A new violin and case lay tucked beneath his arm, along with a small basket. While a mottled snake coiled around the other, squeezing gently in an attempt to steal away the faintest warmth from the thin limb. Risen, the oval shaped head was held before the architect's face, and he stared into the creatures eyes while he traveled. A delicate touch of lips settled on the smooth, scaly head and he lowered his arm, letting the silk of his sleeve flutter down over the coils. Scaling the quad of stairs, he pushed open the door and stepped inside the dim foyer with a glance over the room. A close of the door behind him and he made his way to his room to begin the construction of a tank, or something similar until he could get the glass he needed.

In her small room, the last of the pearls had been gathered after the worst of the sobs had subsided and the fine muscles of her stomach had once again calmed. With small, careful fingers the lone occupant of that room dropped the pearls one by one into the soft cloth that had sheltered the crucifix, the cross added last. She folded it carefully, then slid it into its hiding place. She didn't worry that Kito would come and find the necklace again; the damage had been done, his goal accomplished. He could not have found a more perfect way to hurt her if he had tried. She left her room, pale and shaky, her eyes bloodshot and red rimmed, her lips swollen from crying. Silently she moved down the hall to Erik's room, where she had heard him return. Kito had roused himself to return to her only to advise her that the Masters dined at the home of a guest tonight. She was to ask what 'her frail beast' wanted for dinner. Kito had taken himself off to carouse with friends. Listless and drawn, she knocked softly upon the screen.

For now, the empty crate had to work for the snake. Covered with the lid, the wicker box had been rested behind it, hidden in the corner. Plucking lightly at the strings, he carefully tuned the violin, ensuring that it would sound proper the first time he actually played it. Glancing up at the knock, he then turned his eyes to the instrument again. "Enter," he called out distractedly, then lifting the violin, the blackened cushion was tucked beneath his jaw. Raising the bow and loosely holding it between his fingers, he slowly brought its hairs across the strings, listening quietly to the first few straining chords of _Libera Me. _Perfect. Though he was tempted to finish the song, he lowered the violin again and looked along the make of it. Very well crafted, and cherry wood, just as he had wished.

Anna stepped quietly into the room, and watched him as he lifted the new violin, dark cherry, as he had specified to her, and played it briefly. She could not help but smile softly at the sight of him, the instrument within his hands, where it belonged. But she quickly looked away with fleeting shame, remembering Kito's accusations of her being in love with Erik. She spoke quietly, as a servant should. "The masters dine away tonight. What am I to serve you for your dinner, Master Erik? I will prepare whatever you would like." She moved her hands along her arms, hugging herself against the cramps that threatened to return.

"So that is why it was so silent," he muttered faintly, smoothing his hand against the line of the violin, as if lovingly testing the curves of a woman. "I am not hungry." Had he been since he had arrived here? A little over a week and he had yet to touch any food that she laid out for him. He had eaten something, though, even if it was out in the market, and only a bit of food. It was enough to keep him going for another week or so. The tone of her voice had him glance up toward her, studiously observing her with a sideward tilt of his head, his curiosity revealed. She met his eyes, only briefly, then lowered her own, and gave a soft nod. She stepped toward the screen. "Then I will leave you , sir. I am going to go bathe, and will be gone for a half of an hour. Should you need anything after that, please summon me, my lord." With that, she gave a very mannered bow, not meeting his eyes, and turned, leaving him.

Pausing the movement of his hand, he lifted a brow slowly at her crisp and curt response. What had happened while he was gone? Perhaps she had been punished for slacking in her duties. He followed her with his gaze quietly, then turned his eyes down to the violin. She was going to bathe, and regardless of that primal urge to become a silently hidden spectator, he closed his eyes, stomping that urge down vehemently. It just wasn't proper for him to be spying upon her, no matter how much his blood wished to protest against his thoughts. Raising the violin again, he tucked it gently between chin and shoulder. Then taking up the bow, he began playing the haunting notes of the song he had left unfinished.

With her robe and a towel in hand Anna hurried to the lake, eager to get into the water and forget this day and all that had taken place within it. She was tired, her body aching. Her heart ached most of all. The crucifix could be repaired, no doubt, though how and with what tools remained to be seen. A hot surge of anger broke through the numbness that her pain had brought, and she shut her eyes tightly on tears. _Damn him!_ But she shook her head as she released her hair from its tight bun, and pushed the anger aside. It served no purpose and would win her nothing. Her only means of escaping Master Kito's cruelness was biding her time, obeying him implicitly, and waiting for the day that he would take a bride and leave his father's house.

Finally she reached the pond and undressed. The cold water momentarily stole her breath, but she hurried and washed her body and hair, her eyes drawn to the cherry and apple blossoms, washed pale in the moonlight, their fragrance drifting down to her. Over the sound of the late evening breeze whispering and the song of the crickets, she heard the weeping notes of Erik's new violin. The suds now out of her hair, she laid her arms across the bank, and laid her head upon them, and simply listened to his music, quiet and pensive, until she grew too cold and had to leave the pond. With a sigh, she headed back to the house. She needed to find a sewing kit.

Every instrument had its own personality, and this one Erik had to become used to. It didn't take him very long; after testing the weight and casting his fingers along the body of the rich cherry wood, he was able to play this one just as well, if not better than the last violin. An hour, two? had passed before the violin finally drew silent and he began working on the design for the snake's tank. Comfortable and relaxed among his bed roll and pillows, the serpent laid coiled along the back of his neck, slowly slithering its way in a languid caress along the pale skin of his chest while he carefully sketched out a simplistic design. One that resembled his maze of mirrors, though stationary and a lot smaller. Tucking his fingers beneath the jaw of the snake, he smoothed his thumb against the soft, smooth scales. "Anna," he called out gently, trusting that his voice would carry through the empty house.

Seated in the workroom attached off of the kitchen, the white of her robe spread about her bare legs, she snipped off a length of thick, strong thread and tucked it into her pocket at her waist. In the bottom of the sewing box, she also located two small wire clips, clasps for kimonos, but which would also work just as well as a hook and eye for her crucifix. They would need to be bent into the correct shapes. Tucking both of them into her robe as well, she rifled through the box, but found no pliers in which to manipulate the wire. Frowning, she swept her damp hair behind her shoulders and looked about the room. There were no such tools in sight. With a disappointed sigh, she stood, and straightened the robe back over her hips. Her head lifted as her name was softly called from deep within the house. _Erik_. She turned and lowered the lamps, then walked quickly to his room, her bare feet padding on the wooden boards. Quietly, she called out to him at the screen to his room and he bade her enter. She slipped into the room, tightening her robe.

"Would you mind ter-.." pausing as he glanced up at her in her house robe instead of her kimono, he shrugged inwardly. No harm in getting comfortable, he felt very comfortable within his own loose fitting attire. Passing his thumb's tip along the side of the snake's snout and around the front, he lulled the near all-black constrictor to a sedated state. "..-ribly fixing some green tea," he continued without further hesitation. Adjusting the charcoal within his fingers, he used the edge of his pinky to shade in a portion of the tank. Tilting his head slightly he looked upon the hexagonal tank and turned it slightly to draw in a thicker line where two portions of glass met.

She stared, transfixed, at the dark snake coiled about Erik's neck and draped down his bare chest under the robe. The creature was still and looked very contented under the caressing fingers of its master, who was busy sketching out something with charcoal. She blinked, looked away, then looked once more at the serpent, which had lifted its dark, glossy head and was now regarding her through small, delicate eyes. Anna very quickly broke that reptilian stare and gave a slight bow, lowering her eyes to the floor, having momentarily forgotten her place. "Right away, sir," she whispered. She turned and left, insatiably curious about the lovely animal. She'd seen snakes before, who has not? But not any so close, so _friendly?_ Or perhaps it was friendly only in the hand of its master. She scurried to the kitchen and made the tea with all due haste, searching about for pliers as she did so. As the pot began to whistle, she found a small pair, and tucked them away tightly in the sash of her robe. Once she had served Erik, and escaped again to her room, she would fix the dear necklace, then find a new hiding place for it. Moments later she entered his room once more, the tea tray in her hands, and knelt beside his bedroll. She carefully handed him a steaming cup, keeping her eyes fixed upon the green liquid.

Unafraid, he had allowed the snake to wrap around his throat, seeking out warmth that it would be hard pressed to find. Its head still propped upon his deceptively delicate fingers, he stroked along its head, keeping it lucid. Glancing over to her when she lifted the cup to him, he laid the pencil down and tucked his hand beneath the cup to raise it from her fingers. "Do you know where they went and how long they will be gone?" Tenting his fingertips beneath the bowled bottom of the cup, he tipped it carefully to his lips, gently sipping down a swallow of the hot brew. Laying it upon the parchment, along side of the drawing, he leaned back using his free hand and locked elbow to prop him up.

She shifted, bringing her knees before her and sinking back on her heels before answering him. She raised her eyes quickly to his. "The Masters have gone to dinner at the home of an acquaintance. A business associate. I believe they will not be back for some hours yet. Master Kito is out with friends. I do not expect him back until just before dawn." She reached over and gave the small iron teapot a turn, to keep the leaves settled throughout the liquid, so that he would not drink one. The quiet shift of the snake against his skin drew her attention and she looked over through her lashes at the serpent. It's scales gleamed softly. Her fingers itched to touch the smooth, coiled body. She turned back to the teapot, and idly ran one fingertip across the spout, the heat warming her skin.

Slowly nodding he removed his hand from under the scaled jaw. The head remained elevated even without something to prop it up. Shifting the cup from one hand to the other, he curled his warm fingers around the serpent's neck, letting it soak up the bit of heat. In response the coils tightened around his narrow throat, but he didn't seek to remove the snake. "You were occupied before I summoned you?" Raising the cup again he shifted his gaze over toward her as he took another drink. Absently he looked over the length of her hair, deciding right then and there he liked it much more when it was down. A few of the shorter strands framed her face nicely. Nudging those random thoughts aside, he swallowed and looked down into the cup.

She blushed and straightened under his gaze upon her hair. How loose he must think her, how unkempt, to come to a man's room with her hair down. She anxiously twisted it into a coil and let it lay down her back, then raised her eyes once more to his. _Should I lie?_ It was a very iron clad rule that she was not to take or borrow anything from the workroom for her own needs. The pliers would have to be returned as soon as possible, before the Masters returned home. It would be just her luck that one of them would need the tool before she had the chance to put it back in its place. The thought of lying, however, was put briskly out of her mind when she remembered how very perceptive he was. Those mismatched eyes of blue-green and gold would see straight through her. It was a disconcerting thought that he knew her so well. "I was seeking some materials to repair a necklace of mine that was broken today. I will return them as soon as I am finished, of course, sir."

"No," he mentioned abruptly when her hands drifted away from her hair. Shaking his head slightly he flicked a slender finger toward her hair then curled it back around the snake's neck, which was finally moving. Loosening its coil, the tail dangled down along his chest, sneaking beneath the silver-gray lapel of the black kimono. "Leave it down." Finally releasing the insistent snake, he kept his arm up slightly as it slithered its way down the length of the silk covered limb. Drinking down the last of the small cup's contents, he glanced over to the screen thoughtfully. "And you can return to your repairing, should you wish."_ I have something to do, anyway, _he mused to himself with a faint suckle to a canine's tip.

For a brief moment, she hesitated. Finally her hands crept back up to the coil of hair and she sunk her fingers into it, and shook gently. The mass came tumbling back down around her shoulders to her waist and down her back. Blushing softly, she nodded in response to his dismissal and stood to her feet, allowing the robe to settle back around her knees. She bent and picked up the tea tray, and lifted it to her. She turned to leave, but then stopped, her curiosity winning out over her common sense. She slowly turned back to him, lapping her upper lip and cocked her head, her eyes lowered. "Would it...I mean...could I touch him? Your snake? I've never touched one before and he looks so smooth. If not, it's all right..." She fell silent, slightly embarrassed.

Raising a brow from beneath the mask he glanced to the snake, then back up toward her. Any women he happened to come across were generally frightened of snakes. In fact, every woman tended to get leery and screech when seeing one. "If you'd like," he stated absently, gesturing to the serpent that was now making its way back up his arm to return to its curl around his throat. The warmest spot on his body, apparently. It didn't have the desire to remain anywhere else for long. Instead of having her serve him another, he carefully took up the pot to refill his cup. "Have you ever made black tea? Quite rich and very strong. Made from beans instead of leaves, I believe."

Oddly pleased that he would allow her to touch the serpent, she set down the tea tray and moved back to his side, settling beside the bedroll. "I think, sir, that we have some such beans in the kitchen. They will have to be ground and then percolated, but yes, I will make you some. Anytime you desire." She bit the corner of her lower lip, and worried the soft flesh as she leaned close to him, reaching out one hand hesitantly and slowly, so as not to frighten the serpent. Carefully, starting at the head nestled at the base of his throat, she ran one finger, gently and softly, down the smooth, glistening body. She kept her caress light and careful, using only the tips of her fingers to trail over the scales. Shifting she increased the pressure of her touch slightly, giving the whole length of the snake a slow, long stroke. She smiled as it seemed to rise under her hand, much like a cat. It raised its head slightly and looked at her, its eyes somehow friendly. She bent and kissed the tiny head tenderly, then drew back. "Thank you," she murmured to Erik, smiling at him.

Resting against his arm again, cup in hand, he distractedly watched her stroke along the snake's skin as its thick muscles clenched and released beneath the scales. He felt it tensing around his throat, but just as before, he didn't seek to loosen the coils that were winding tight enough to pinch his skin. He knew he could rip it away if he needed to. "You are welcome," he murmured faintly against the fine rim of the cup, then canted it further to take a drink. Laying the cup aside he brought his other arm back, leaning his slight weight against it as well. "How did you break your necklace?"

She lowered her eyes, drawing back from him, and twisting a hand through her hair in a nervous gesture. It was still fragrant and damp from her bath and clung to her fingers. She worked loose a small, slight tangle, wondering how much to tell him. He had an intense dislike for Kito. The incidents of this afternoon had proven there was no love lost between the two men. But the mere breaking of a servant's necklace would not matter to Erik. She supposed it would harm nothing to tell him; he could be no more angry at her youngest master than he already was. "I am not to have such personal effects... of value... and of spirituality. It was a crucifix. My mother's. Master Kito found it and he punished me by breaking it. If he discovers that I have repaired it... I'll be punished for that as well." She made a helpless gesture, and sunk a hand into her hair again.

"I see," was the only thing he said about that matter, and he nodded gently. From the look of it his thoughts were elsewhere; the faintest thinning press of his lips, the far away look within glossy, dual-  
colored eyes. Yes, he was thinking, and deeply. A tight squeeze of the coiled body brought him back to the present, and he blinked slowly with a glance over toward her. He couldn't understand the connection when it came to gifts given from parental figures, but he knew well the feel of being attached to something, only to someone break it. It had happened far too many times in his life. Far, far too many. Perhaps he didn't care that a servant's necklace had been broken. His cool demeanor seemed to project that clearly, especially when he drifted off in his thoughts again, oblivious of the oval shaped head that was drifting against the side of the black mask, the creature's grayish-pink tongue flickering now and again over the silk.

He was clearly finished with her for the night. His gaze had gone glossy, as if lost in his thoughts, and he did not look at her again. She felt embarrassed at telling him. But that was foolish. As it was also foolish that she felt slightly hurt at his distant attitude. Inwardly frowning at herself, she stood to her feet and took the tea tray back up. "I will leave you now, sir. If there is anything else you desire or need, please summon me. I will be in my room." She bowed to him, then left the room quickly. The sooner she was out of his confusing presence and released from her equally confusing feelings, the better off she would be. She left the room and hurried back to the kitchen. She must repair her crucifix before the Masters returned home or there would be hell to pay.

It was the sound of the screen that drew his eyes to it, and he turned his head to glance back toward the makeshift home of the nameless snake. Easing up from his recline, he tucked his legs beneath him and pressed to a steady stand. Stretching slowly and cracking several bones in the process, he stalked over to the silk filled case and lifted the snake from around his neck. Lowering it to the box, he covered it again then pulled it out of the way to take up the small wicker box from behind it. Cradling it within his hand, he held it against his side, concealed by the length of silk that made up his sleeve. Silently sliding the screen open, he glanced out then over to the hall that would lead him to the boy's room. Stealing away into the corridor he moved to the sought after screen. Tucking his fingers within the thin slot, he cracked the screen open more and slipped inside. Needing no light to guide him, he drew closer to the bedroll and crouched in front of it. Raising the sheet's edge and covering the opening of the basket, he lifted the lid and gently tapped beneath the wicker, allowing the glistening black scorpion to crawl within the folded cloth. The lid closed, and sheet adjusted to look as if it hadn't been disturbed, he let a cold smile pass over his lips before he finally made his exit.

Break his violin?

He would break _him_.


	12. In Trusting Hands

**Chapter Twelve:** In Trusting Hands

Anna sat up for another hour or so, laboriously and carefully repairing her broken crucifix, unaware of the family finally coming home from their entertainments. She worked by low lamplight, her eyes squinted, until each pearl had been restrung upon the thread, the crucifix dangling from the middle. With the pair of pliers, the wire clasps were bent to form the hook and the eye. Finally, the piece was once again complete and as lovely as it had been, except for the scarred pearls and the splintering of the silver cross. She located a new hiding place, this time within her meager clothing drawer. As the house's _only_ servant, she would be the only one with a reason to have access to that drawer. Worn and tired, she took off her robe and slipped into a thin cotton gown, one of three identical ones. Blinking heavily, she braided her hair down her back and crawled between the sheets. Curling a hand under her cheek, she stared out her tiny window at the low-hanging moon until she fell into a dreamless slumber. And she didn't awaken until she heard piercing screams, like something out of a nightmare.

In rapid Japanese Kito cried out his agony, waking his parents swiftly who had come to his room to see if he was being attacked. As wealthy as he was, Kyomi had been greedily eyed by a number of men, and so it was his usual practice that Dakuro slept with his sword at his side. The very sword he had carried with him in his rush. Like a shadow the scorpion had scuttled from the blankets and over to a darkened corner where it was safe, leaving the youth clutching at his swiftly swelling ankle. "Anna! Fetch the doctor! Fetch Kishiro now!" Within his room, Erik let a slow smile cross over his lips. He could only imagine the nasty purple-back bruise that was forming around the poisoned muscle. Kito would be lucky if the nerves weren't killed.

Anna didn't bother to put on her robe as she ran down the hallway to Kito's room. At the doorway she stared with horror at the black, purple mass that was quickly forming about Kito's ankle. _Oh, dear God!_ He was writhing upon his bed, his broad face contorted with agony, tears streaming down blood-red cheeks. It took her a moment to even hear her Master order her to fetch the doctor, so horrified was she by the hideous sight, until she was smacked sharply across one cheek. With a hurried apology she ran to her room to throw on her robe, then sprinted to the stables. For once, the lazy ostler was on duty and she ordered him in brisk tones to saddle Muran while she changed. Within minutes, she was pounding out into the darkness, stretched over the mare's neck. As she raced away, she wondered what could have possibly happened to Kito. The ankle had appeared...inflamed...infected, as if something had bitten him! With sudden clarity she remembered Erik's words about how he would have his revenge for the damage to his violin. She felt cold inside.

A quarter of an hour later, she returned, the doctor behind her on his own mount. They drew rein in the yard, and Kishiro hurried into the house. As Anna dismounted, she could not help her whirl of thoughts. _What have you done, Erik? _

Scorpions weren't commonly seen within this land, at least not this portion of the village, and at first the doctor believed that he had been bitten by a snake. Though there was only one puncture wound, seeping a clear, oily fluid, not only from the infection that was spreading, but the venom that had been pumped into his veins. A spider bite was also out of the question, leading only to the creature that was still quietly hidden away in one of the corners. It took both his father and the doctor to carry him out to the horse and get him upon its back. He couldn't be treated while he remained at home, and even while being treated, Kito was in for a long, long night of dehydration, vomiting and electric shock-like bouts of pain streaking through his whole leg. It'd be a good two or three weeks before he would even be able to walk without his leg hurting, and almost a month before the swelling would go completely down. Nio and Dakuro worriedly followed the doctor, leaving Erik to his privacy and Anna within the house.

She felt ill.Pacing the empty, silent halls of the house, still clad in her fitted cotton tunic and trousers, Anna's footsteps rang hollow upon the floor. Erik's room was silent; he had not even appeared during the frantic moments of the last half-hour. She was alone in the house with him, and he _still_ had not come out of the room. She suspected, strongly, that he would not. His silence was as good as an admission of guilt. It was true that she hated Kito, despised him for his unwarranted cruelty, but...had he deserved _this_? She wanted to question the masked man, wanted to demand an answer, but she dared not. Fear of him had returned. _It had to have been him._ She turned, biting her thumbnail, and looked down the hall toward his door. Then looked down the opposite hall, toward Kito's room. Master Kyomi had ordered her to pack his son a satchel of clothing that they would return for after he was settled at the doctor's. It was with much trepidation that she finally stepped into the darkened room and began packing Kito's clothing.

She kept her eyes riveted upon the messy bed, wondering if what had bitten him remained between the sheets, but she saw no movement. She relaxed and closed the satchel, then turned to the door once more. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. A black creature scuttled from a corner and crossed the room, moonlight making its smooth black flesh glisten. A wickedly shaped tail caught her attention. With a shriek of terror, she flung the satchel at the thing and ran, slamming the screen shut. She tripped over the frame and fell, her ankle twisting. She clutched the bone, and stared with horror at the screen, expecting to see the thing break through the rice paper at any moment.

It wasn't that screen that opened, but another one upon the opposite end of the L shaped hallway. He knew the scorpion was still in there, and if she had entered and gotten stung… That had not been his wish, not in the least. Coming around the corner and seeing her clasping at her ankle he frowned beneath the mask and drew close to her with the silence of a specter. Crouching, black silk hissed softly against itself, pooling around his feet as he tapped her hands, indicating that he wanted them to move. "Let me see," he murmured gently and propped an elbow against one thigh and brushed the side of his robe back out of his way.

She whipped her head around and found his eyes looking intently into hers. She had not even heard him approach! She moved slightly, keeping one eye upon the screen of the room where that nightmarish creature had been, but the movement sent a wave of pain through her ankle, which had nearly turned completely with her fall. She gritted her teeth, and looked back at him, her eyes wide and frightened. "Wh..what is th..that th..th..ing?" she asked, her teeth still chattering with her fear. _If she had not seen it..._Would she even now be in Kito's state? Possibly being poisoned to death? Even now, her ankle throbbed with the severely strained tendons. She wanted to rail at the man who was reaching for her ankle, but she could not. She had no proof it had been he.

"Scorpion," he stated plainly. If she had any doubts about him sticking the creature in there, then they had been shattered now. He knew what it was without even looking inside. With her hands out of the way, he slid his fingers beneath the heel of her foot, and, careful prodding, he smoothed them over the muscle and bone alike. She hadn't been stung, which was a good thing. While he knew how to tend to scorpion stings she still would have been in pain for a little while. And he was sure that her masters would have made her work on a swollen ankle. "Relax," he whispered gently, softly rotating her foot, testing the severity of the sprain. Exhaling a breath through his nostrils, Anna suddenly found herself several feet from the floor, one of his arms behind her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. He carried her easily as if she was made of nothing but paper.

She hissed with pain as he rotated her foot, the strain pulling the tender muscles tight. But he whispered soothingly to her and she obeyed, an order within that silken voice that she dared not deny. She closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath, willing the throbbing to cease, the coolness of his long, painfully thin fingers soothing against the burning pain. But her eyes flew open as his arms came about her and she was lifted effortlessly into the air. Her gaze flew to the ground, which seemed a very long distance away, and she clutched at his robe with one hand, the other wrapping about his shoulder. The sudden rise in the air caused her to grow momentarily dizzy and she pressed her face to his chest as he carried her down the hall. She bit her lip, then murmured against the silk of his robe, "You have punished him for the violin, after all."

Silence was his only answer, and hardly was it from guilt. With the casualness of an assassin he had simply done what he felt the need to do. He was going to go on with his life here unless Kito decided to do something else to rouse his ire. Erik was sure that he wouldn't resort to 'harmless' stings, next time. Shifting her weight slightly, he eased the screen open wide enough so he'd be able to step inside without hitting her head or feet against the frame of the opening. Carrying her over to his bedroll, he lowered her to the previously untouched surface and moving over to collect the wicker box, he stepped back out. It wasn't until he was around the corner that he allowed a discomforted shudder to streak up his spine from the previous closeness. From his bedroll, she watched him leave, a wicker box under one arm, the scorpion's home, perhaps. It wasn't until after he had disappeared that she took a deep, trembling breath and tried to relax, smothering the unfamiliar sensations she'd felt as he'd carried her, so close to his body.

_How odd_, she mused. But she shook her head, and looked about the room, much larger than her own. A fresh drawing sat upon the desk, unfinished. She glanced over at the basket set by the bedroll, and guessed that the snake was resting within. Finally, she sat up and worked the braid from her hair so that she could twist her hands in it, a comforting habit of hers that she'd had for many years. She imagined that he was going treat her sprained ankle. _He had carried me and touched me so gently._ Could he really be the same man who had coldly and emotionlessly laid a poisonous creature in another's bed? She finally loosened her hair and laid back down, working one hand through the long mass, winding it about her fist, almost savagely. His silence after her questioning had spoken volumes. He had no regrets for what he had done to Kito. She could not help but wonder what would happen on the morrow. Who would be held responsible for the incident? Would the finger be pointed at her? Would Erik be turned out or even...arrested? Or would it be passed off as an accident?

It hadn't been difficult to recapture the scorpion; shining a little light on the situation allowed him to find the creature, and lifting it by its tail, it was dropped back into the small basket. Later in the evening he would carry it out to the woods and set it free. He could have left it in there, but with investigation, there was little way the creature could have gotten into the room, not a scorpion that big. Perhaps one of the smaller brown scorpions could have crawled up from the boards, and Kito could have had an allergic reaction to the bee sting type venom. Erik had it all planned out if he was ever questioned. It took several minutes for him to return to the room. Collecting a bucket full of frigid pond water and several cloths he finally made his way back inside, closing the screen behind him. He set the bucket near her foot. Kneeling, he rolled up his sleeves and cradled her foot within the valley of his pressed thighs. Collecting a cloth, he wrung most of the water out before draping the bitingly cold material across her ankle.

Her eyes widened, then shut tightly as she gasped with the shock of the frigid cloth upon her heated skin. She squirmed slightly, biting her lip, then stilled, as the grip on her foot became very firm, allowing no resistance. She bit her lip even harder, suckling the edge, until the shock finally wore off and she relaxed. Her eyes remained on the ceiling, one hand working through the hair spread across the pillows. She had not been...taken care of...since her parents had died, and it was a slightly disconcerting sensation to be the one being nursed, rather than the one doing the nursing. The silence was growing uncomfortable, so finally she spoke, "H..how are you enjoying your new violin?"

"I am enjoying it well enough," he stated simply as he drew the cloth away and dipped it into the cold water. He squeezed out the excess and draped the cloth back over her ankle, this time carefully wrapping it around the slender portion of her lower leg. Adjusting it and taking up another strip, he wrapped it higher, just above her ankle. A third cloth was drawn free and settled about the base of her foot. He left the bandaged foot against his lap, completely uncaring that his lap was becoming soaked. Keeping his eyes upon her foot, as if able to tell whether the swelling was going down beneath the cloths or not, he tipped his feet inward. Cradling his flanks with his heels, his feet crossed over each other, and his toes bent comfortably.

Anna sighed softly as the pain began to recede, soothed by the cold cloths wrapped snugly about her foot, ankle, and leg. She was quickly relaxing, the motions of his long, cool hands calming her. Her hand began to still in her hair, until it was wrapped only loosely by the now dry golden brown strands. He was being so kind. She wasn't used to kindness, and certainly hadn't expected it from him. She knew that his lap, settled under her foot, must be soaked, yet he made no move to remove her wrapped ankle. The room was quiet, still, the only sound their breathing, and the crickets singing softly outside. As he worked, she nestled her head into his pillows, growing even more comfortable, more relaxed. Her eyes were heavy, tired, dry. She closed them, just to rest them for a moment. She didn't open them again. Soon her breathing was even and deep with sleep, one hand draped across her stomach, the other still in her hair.

Just how long could he sit there, unmoving? Hours, sometimes days. He could easily zone off and be in his own little world, but this time that wasn't the case. While watching her foot, he was well aware of his surroundings so that he easily noticed when she drifted off to sleep. Sliding his eyes from her ankle, he drifted them over the length of her form until his gaze rested upon her face. She was actually sleeping around him.. felt safe enough to drift off. Adjusting one of the cloths, he pressed it further up her shin, only a fraction of an itch from where it once was. After scratching through the short strands of his hair, he lowered his hands to his sides and closed his eyes, distractedly listening to her breathing while she rested.

The air in the room began to chill slightly as the night deepened into the pre-dawn hours, and the colder air woke her as it made the damp cloths about her injured ankle grow frigid again. She woke, blinking her eyes slowly at the ceiling above her, and shivered. Wrapping her arms about herself, she turned slightly onto her side, and glanced down the bedroll at Erik, who sat, in a relaxed position, her foot, now turned a bit, still resting in his lap. His eyes were closed behind the black mask, his lips set in lines of ease. Without that hawk-like stare burning into her, she was able to gaze at him at will, her eyes following his form, from what she could see of his legs, up and over his torso, his chest pale against the silvery robe, along his narrow throat, and over the masked face to the short, dark auburn strands of his hair. She still found him a mystery, one which would never be solved. And her feelings were still muddled in regards to him. He terrified her, yet he intrigued her. And the acts of this night had even further confused her. She couldn't help but dread the morrow. _Would Erik die for his crime?_

_  
_If he had sensed her awakening he didn't give any outward indication to the fact. His eyes remained closed, giving the appearance that he could very well be sleeping sitting up. His breathing was slow and relaxed, and his posture didn't have the usual rigid look that it normally had. If only he was able to fall to sleep that easily, then he wouldn't abuse his body more than he did already. As if drawing deeper into slumber, his chin tipped down further between his shoulders and after the faintest of shifts, he stilled again, listening carefully to her movement.

_He is asleep. _She watched as his chin lowered to his chest, and he shifted in his rest, then stilled once more. A soft smile crossed her features as she gazed at him. _He looks so..._innocent.._in his sleep_. A cruel contrast compared to the coldly efficient man who had snuck a potentially deadly creature into another's bed. She wanted to believe that the scorpion was not deadly, that Kito would live, that Erik was not a murderer. She wanted, desperately, to believe the best of him. She knew, when she looked at him, that he had secrets. What man, who had traveled the world and wore a mask would _not _have secrets. But they were his. She would not question. It was not her place. But she _had_ to know if Kito would die. For now, she would not disturb his sleep. It was time that she got to her own bed. Carefully, moving slowly so as not to disturb him, she sat up, her hair falling over her shoulders. She slid her foot from his lap, and bracing her hands upon the bedroll, pressed to a stand, avoiding putting weight upon the injured ankle.

When she turned he cracked open his eyes slowly. His eyes dropped to her foot before rising to look upon her. "You should not be walking so soon. Lie down." The words were hardly a request. He hadn't taken the time to tend to her foot, only for her to ruin the progress thus far. Dipping his hand within the cold bucket of water, he tested its temperature then nodded to himself. It was cool enough for now. Rocking up to his feet, he laced his fingers together and stretched slowly. A soft grimace passed over his lips as bones cracked here and there, loosening the stiffness within his limbs. Yawning slowly he lifted his hand to begin kneading against the back of his neck firmly.

His voice brooked no opposition. Hesitantly, she sank back down to the bedroll, careful of the swollen ankle, and reclined upon her arms, her back braced, and her chin tipped slightly as she studied him. Apparently, he had been awake after all. She watched him as he yawned, then massaged the back of his neck. She could well imagine how sore his muscles were after tending to her ankle for such a tedious length of time, following the hours spent sketching. Guilt flushed her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes. If she had not acted like a fool in Kito's room, he would not have wasted this last hour upon her. _If he had not been intent upon his revenge, _you_ would have not have had to make a fool of yourself! _She pushed that thought aside, and then looked back up at him. Perhaps if she assisted him, he would speak to her of what he had done. It was gnawing a hole through her stomach. She lifted her eyes and looked up at him. "If you will sit before me, I will work the knots from your neck. I often do so for the Masters." She lifted her brows in question.

Cupping his hand against the back of his neck he regarded her quietly. He wasn't one that enjoyed being touched very often, but after a hard day's work out in the field among unfinished buildings, he often had a harem girl loosen his muscles. Twisting his lips faintly he gave a subtle nod, then, turning around, he lowered himself to sit before her. Knowing that she wouldn't get much of a kneading done with the robe on, he loosened the belt and shrugged the cloth from his shoulders to rest along the outside of his arms. All she needed was access to his shoulders and his upper back. He was reluctant to reveal the rest anyway. He never knew the extent of the cris-  
crossing marks that laced his skin. He hadn't truly looked into a mirror in ages.

Her eyes upon the white, glistening scars that marred his upper back and shoulders, she scooted forward until she could rest a leg on either side of his hips. Reaching back with one hand, she gathered her hair to lie down her back leaving her arms free. She rolled back the sleeves of her tunic, then set her hands gently upon both of his shoulders. His skin was cool, nearly icy, under her touch, but she reasoned that with some kneading, it would warm. First, she ran her hands over the parts of his back and shoulders that were exposed to her, ascertaining where the worst knots were. Her brows rose as she felt them everywhere, most heavily concentrated at the base of his neck and between his prominent shoulder blades. She started at his neck, rotating her thumbs into the muscle, gently at first, then increasing the pressure until she was massaging deeply, feeling the muscles slowly giving under her fingers. Once the muscles were relaxed, she moved down onto the tops of his shoulders, working her palms into his skin, massaging in deep circles, occasionally digging in with her thumbs where the knots were at their hardest. Keeping her hands firm, she worked down to the edge of his robe across his back, then over to his biceps, which she rubbed as well, then back up to his neck, where she started the process again.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked quietly.


	13. Storms

**Chapter Thirteen:** Storms

It wasn't the chill of his skin, or the lacing of pale marks she had to worry over, but the steely tension within almost every single muscle she passed her hands over. And it seemed the more she dug in, the greater that tautness became! His jaw worked slowly, the slender line of bone and muscle clenching subtly as he began distractedly chewing upon the sides of his tongue; a bit of pain in an ill attempt to get his mind off of the fact that he was being touched. So often in his life, with touch came pain. Moments of compassion were truly brief, at best. Just when it seemed the sleek sinew would snap like an over-bent stalk of bamboo, he began relaxing, and she sighed quietly in relief. Relenting his hold upon the tortured bits of muscle, he drug his tongue's tip across his lips, dampening the skin, which did nothing but dry again after he expelled a languid breath. "No," he finally responded, "you are not hurting me." His head gave a gentle shake, tipping his bare chin upon the sharp curve of a pale, scarred shoulder so that he could glance back to her.

She raised her eyes to his, suddenly shy and hesitant under his gaze. She had feared that the deep press and rotation of her fingers would surely be causing him pain, so close to the surface were his muscles and bones. With his muscles relaxed and eased, she gentled her hands, moving them in circles over his skin to soothe the reddened marks caused by the rotations of her thumbs. She ran her tongue over her upper lip, worried it slightly with her teeth, then decided that now, when he seemed at ease, was most likely going to be the best time to question him. She raised herself higher on her knees so that she could begin rubbing her fingers over the tight knots along the back of his neck, and spoke. "The...scorpion. Its bite...will he die from it?"

The question provoked the undeniable urge to toy with her and he shrugged faintly as he turned his head around. "It is possible. Anyone can die from the sting of a scorpion." Muscles tensed beneath her hands again, but only because he was shifting to pull his arms from the sleeves of the kimono, letting it rest listlessly around his hips and along the floor. Placing his palms upon his thighs he tipped his head down, giving her more room to work with as she kneaded her thumbs into his nape. Though he wouldn't outwardly admit it, that actually did feel good. Small hands momentarily trembled upon his nape, but then resumed their gentle massaging.

_There was a chance Kito could die_. She remembered the sight of that scorpion, a creature that she had never before laid eyes upon, and inwardly shivered. There would be questions asked; how could there not be? The family doctor, an intelligent, astute man, would surely know that the mess that was now Kito's ankle was caused by the sting of a foreign creature. Only she knew of the broken violin, and the vow of revenge that had prompted this act of violence. But surely Kito would tell his father about that interlude in the sunroom, if he had not already stepped into eternity. Kito would die..._and Erik along with him._ She would not mourn the loss of the cruel young master...but Erik... She swallowed hard, dampening her tight throat. Why did it matter to her? Why did _he_ matter to her? But he did, as strange, confusing, and discomforting as that revelation was. She felt a surge of anger. Leaning over him, she ran her hands down his arms and began to knead his lower back, which was now free of the kimono. Her voice was tense with her emotion. "How very foolish! They will hang you, Erik! And maybe beat you first within an inch of your life! How could you put your life at risk like that?" She shook her head, her hair falling over her hands, and she tossed it back heatedly.

All but one lock, which was captured swiftly with the snake-like strike of his fingers. Curling it around a thin finger, he smoothed his thumb across it slowly then gave a low chuckle to the tenseness within her voice. "Living… is putting one's life at risk." One slender shoulder lifted then fell, impassively. "If I am hung, then I am hung." He shrugged. "Perhaps they, too, will believe in the ideal of 'that which does not kill you, makes you stronger' and I shall be spared." Pausing he tipped his head to the side, then let a mirthless laugh pass briefly between his lips, only to allow venom to seep from his next words. "Then again, perhaps I am putting too much hope in the human race, hmm?"

Her breathing had become elevated, and she looked away from him as she rubbed his back, her hair still wrapped about his finger. She blinked back tears at his harsh words. _Did he not care that he might be killed? _She shook her head slightly and chose not to speak again. She did not understand him and felt she had no hope of ever doing so. He seemed to be hinting at something, playing with her somewhat, keeping some piece of knowledge out of her grasp. His voice, hard and without humor, seemed to be mocking her. She did not like this. Not when she dreaded what might happen to him. He was taking it so lightly, so nonchalantly. She was angry, and even a bit hurt, that he thought so little himself, that he took it for granted that no one cared what happened to him. As an individual who meant _nothing_ to anyone, she longed desperately to mean _something_ to someone. Surely he felt the same... "I do not want you to die, Erik. You had better think of some story to contrive. Or pray that Kito does live. Or there shall be no help for you."

"Anna, Anna, Anna," he sighed, drawing the lock taut before letting it unravel from his finger. It dropped, draping listlessly with the other strands. "Everyone dies. It is only the method, time, and place that needs to be decided. As for praying that Kito lives?" He turned his head to glance back at her again, a curious smile crossing his lips. "That will be as likely as learning all the Japanese characters within a minute. Which reminds me. Should we not be practicing?" Raising a hidden brow he turned his head back around, his shoulders hunching slightly so that his forearms met the plain of his thighs. It was a deep lean, one that pressed the arch of his back cat-like into her hands, as well as firmly stretched his skin and muscles across easily visible ribs and spine.

_So, he would speak no more of it_? She closed her eyes briefly, expelling a rush of air from her lungs as she leaned over his long, sleek back, and ran her palms down either side of his prominent spine, her touch growing lighter as she began the final stage of the massage. _Then I will not speak of it again,_ she vowed to herself. It would earn her nothing but more worry and tension over his fate. The next hours until the Masters returned from the doctor, with or without Kito, would be long, tense ones. And Erik was being stubborn and evasive, his tone still mocking her. _That is what an insignificant servant gets for being concerned for her Master! _She banished it from her thoughts, as best she could, and lightly rubbed her hands over the whole of his back, until the skin was warm and the muscles languid. She sat back from him and gave him a last stroke along his spine. "Yes, sir. If you wish to gather the materials?"

"Yes," he answered simply after a few moments. The massage garnered no response from him besides the relaxing of his form. That final stroke, though? He smoothed his fingers over his arm, caressing down the hairs that had risen from such a pleasant sensation. Curling his fingers around his bicep, he straightened his back and pulled up the kimono to drape it over his shoulders. Pressing his arms into the sleeves he slid his fingers along the lapels, smoothing them into place. Gathering the broad obi, he tied it securely around his thin waist.

She sat, kneeling upon the bedroll, fiddling idly with the sleeves of her tunic as he stood to gather parchment, brushes and ink. Now that he was away from her, and could no longer see her face or sense her reactions, she allowed her own muscles, sore and tight themselves from easing his, to ache just a bit. She rolled her shoulders back, wincing at the crack of her spine. When the fire between her shoulder blades had calmed enough to allow her to move more freely, she braced her hands behind her and arched her back, biting her lip, then straightened. Her palms still tingled from the massage, warm from his skin, which had finally lost its chill. She could tell from his posture that the kneading of his muscles had relaxed him greatly, and she was pleased that she had been able to help him, at least in some small way. _That last stroke had nothing to do with easing him though_, a nagging voice whispered at her. She frowned, blushing, and pushed it aside, then looked back at him as he resumed his seat across from her.

Easing the wide cork from the mouth of the ink-paint jar, he laid it aside, then picked up one of the brushes and placed it in front of her. Rising from his leaning position, he straightened out the parchments he had collected, then split the number in half to set some of them before her. "What shall we begin with tonight? Something difficult, I do hope." At times it was easy for him to become bored, especially when it came to something he was learning. Letters and numbers were nothing but a yawn to him, and he was ready for the more complex characters instead of repeating something over...and over again. Regardless, the first thing he did had become habitual. Collecting his left sleeve in his hand and holding the brush loosely between his fingers, he dipped the end into the jar, then proceeded to write his name to warm his wrist.

Dipping her own brush into the ink, Anna proceeded to write her own name with slow, careful strokes, keeping her eyes upon his work. She finished and tipped her head, but a length of hair fell in her eyes. Before continuing, she reached for an empty brush, coiled her hair back into a low bun and secured it with the brush, then proceeded to glance at him, the tip of her brush between her lips. "Hmm. Perhaps a favorite passage of yours? A snippet of a book, something poetic in nature?" She raised a brow at him, then looked down and tapped his wrist with the end of her brush. "Looser, Erik. Allow your wrist to flow a bit more." She held her own wrist out to him and let it drape languidly in the air, brush in hand. "As if you are going to brush the back of your hand against something."

Glancing from his brush to hers, he nodded faintly and settled back against his heels, dropping the brush into the jar. Loosening his belt, though not removing it, he collected the brush once more, then shifted a fresh parchment over. "A favorite passage of mine?" He gave this some thought, even as he went over the sweeping lines of his first character with a smooth grace. Dampening his lower lip, he tipped his head to the side and began on the second. "_Questo misero modo tengon l'anime triste di coloro che visser senza infamia e senza lodo._" Soft as silk, the Italian flowed easily from his thin lips. Switching the brush from his left hand to his right, he repeated his name, though this time with his 'off hand.' "'This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.' Tell me, have you read Dante's '_Inferno_?'"

Momentarily entranced by the words that had flowed, softly and sensually from his narrow lips, she blinked up at him, the spell breaking. _His voice..._ She shook her head softly, then leaned closer to him to study his characters. "Absolutely perfect," she whispered, running her fingertips lightly over the page. She sat back up, and a wistful ache came into her eyes and voice. "No, sir. I'm afraid that the Masters do not permit me to have books. They see a female servant reading as pure nonsense. I have not had the leisure or a book to read since my parents...died...fifteen years ago." She turned her head before he could see the pain in her eyes. She missed the simple luxury of reading _so_ much.

"Well now. That will have to be rectified. A world without books is a boring one, indeed." Placing the brush aside he lifted his hand and scratched against his scalp, rasping through the smattering of hair that rested upon the surface. Following the line of the mask's strap near the back of his head, he glanced over toward his pack then gestured off in its direction. "In there you shall find several books. Most of which I have read into a faded state. You may have them. Though..." Trailing off, he flicked his gaze to her, his lips pressing into a thin line briefly. "They are in different languages. Arabic, French, German…" Making a 'so on and so forth' gesture, he dropped his hand to the brush, and dipping it into the thick ink, he looked over the parchment before him, taking in the differences between the two versions of his name; one with a relaxed wrist and the other without.

She lowered her gaze to her parchment, the black characters blurred by her tears. How long had it been since _anyone_ had shown her a kind gesture? She couldn't even remember... Anna ducked her head and blinked rapidly, until she could see clearly again, then raised her gaze back to him. He was studying his own parchment. She moistened her lips, then spoke softly. "Thank you, Erik, but I cannot take them to my own room, or read them in plain sight of the household." She sat up and cleared her throat. "If you would permit me to read in your room while you work, they will think that I am serving you, and I will not be punished." She stretched her arms over her head to relieve the muscles bunched there and then bent back to her parchment to carefully create the characters of a nursery rhyme, adding a tiny sheep in a field at the bottom.

"So be it." Shrugging lightly, he turned his attention from his paper to hers, watching the image that was being drawn across the surface. Deciding to attempt the phrase he had told her, he gathered a wider parchment, and starting upon the right side, he carefully went from one character to the next, drudging up the memory of the different figures. "Perhaps," he began, dipping the brush within the ink again, "I will teach you one of the languages within the books. French would be easier, I presume."

With a last stroke she finished the small drawing of the sheep upon the parchment, and set it aside, shifting, conscious of the wrapped ankle. Turning her weight, she slid her legs out from under her so that she could sit upon her bottom and cross her feet. Her shoulders were aching too much to continue writing for now, so she sat back and looked over at him, watching his effort to create the verse that he had quoted to her earlier. "I know a bit of French, only the basic terms." She laughed softly. "All things French was the rage in England, at least the last time I lived there. Our maid was French, Mama's modiste was French. Our cook -- French." She shook her head and reached up, releasing her hair to twist it through her fingers. "I would enjoy that very much, sir."

"Why, the English are intelligent after all," he muttered beneath his breath, more from concentration than trying to spare her feelings. He cared not for the feelings of others, apparently. Over the last week or so that he had been here, it seemed he didn't care about anything -- and by recent events...not even himself. Lifting the bristles from the parchment he tapped the end of the brush against his lower lip, his eyes narrowing from within the cut holes of the mask. This was proving to be difficult, indeed. Sometimes he had to wonder why the Japanese had so many different characters for just one word; and they weren't even for the different tenses. Really, four or five characters for 'house?' That was a bit much.

Anna watched as he seemed to struggle with his characters, his brush against his mouth, his eyes narrowed. She sat up and leaned forward to assist him, reaching out to point out a slight mistake to him when she heard a shout from within the house. "Anna! Where is that satchel, you stupid girl!" With a curse, she stumbled to her feet, wincing at the weight upon her ankle, crying out, then reaching out, and grabbing for something to hold on to. She latched onto one of Erik's narrow shoulders and looked down at him, her eyes wide. "The satchel! I have to go!" Her name was shouted again, in frustration by Master Dakuro, and she released his shoulder, and hobbled to the screen. "I am coming, Master!"

Raising a hand, he kneaded his fingers against his shoulder, getting rid of the lingering sensation of her clasped hand. Absently he watched her as she made her way to the screen, then looked down to the ill formed phrase. It wasn't completely wrong, but not perfect enough for him to be satisfied. Collecting the parchments, he tapped them together and laid them neatly at his side, then glanced up as he was suddenly shrouded in darkness. Rising to his feet, he approached his pack to search for a fresh candle. He swore he had some in there...somewhere.

In Kito's room, Anna bent and retrieved the satchel, which was promptly ripped from her hands by the master. With several verbal lashes at her stupidity and incompetence to do as he asked, he left her, storming back out of the house. She limped after him, shouting into the rapidly forming thunderstorm outside, asking if his son was alright. He spat back that the boy would live, but he would be recovering for some weeks. Finally he turned, mounted his horse, and his eyes bored into hers. "Do not leave this house! And do not allow my architect to leave either!" With that, he spun about and galloped off. Anna stared after him until a massive bolt of lightning lit up the sky and she shrieked and ran back to the safety of the dark house. A gust of wind billowed through the halls, sending the gas lantern smoking in its wake. She limped down the blackened hallway, one hand braced on the wall, the other in front of her. She turned back into Erik's room which was completely black. She tripped over something and fell to her hands and knees. "Damn it all!" she cursed aloud.

"One should truly be careful when walking around a dark room." Just when did he show up next to her? There had been no sound of his approach, no rustle of cloth, but there his hand was, assisting her to a stand. With that ruined ankle she would've had difficulties. Approaching the lantern, he lifted the paper from the frame – having finally figured out how to do so without ripping into it -- and replaced the old candle with the new one. It was dangerous to have an open flame around such thin tissue, but that seemed to be the way of the Japanese. Why, one wrong move, and a simple gust of air could set a house aflame. A bit of flint lit the fresh wick, and he replaced the cover, allowing it to cast a reddish glow over the room. The sound of thunder caused him to glance up to the ceiling and he listened to the remaining traces as they growled within the still air.

Shivering in the rapidly cooling air, she watched him as he carefully lit the lantern, then resettled the cover. The room was not as bright as before, but she could at least see now. She leaned heavily on her uninjured ankle, her arm still in his grasp. Her teeth were chattering in her head. She _hated_ thunderstorms, especially in this country, where the houses were barely protected from outside forces, so thin were the walls. It had been storming the night that her mother and father...damn the memories! She wouldn't allow that thought to creep in and consume her as it too often did during these seasonal disturbances. Most of the time she huddled in her bed, and rocked back and forth, her eyes shut tightly so that she would not see the flashes of lightning. But she wasn't alone this time. Even though he was barely touching her, she took solace in his presence, in his tall, deceptively strong frame. She turned into him, not touching him, but shielding herself in his shadow until he had finished with his task.

"It seems as if it's been years since I last heard a thunderstorm," he mused to himself aloud, his eyes shifting toward another portion of the ceiling as another tide of rolling thunder passed through the still air. It couldn't be said that Persia had a lot of rain storms. In fact... it didn't seem damp at all during the time he was out there. Finally moving his hand, he stepped away from the lantern with a glance toward her as she remained huddled at his side. "You do realize that it is merely sound? Electricity disturbing the flow of the air, which settles swiftly?" It was a weak explanation, but he knew that if he continued, he'd be sitting there, going on about lightning and thunder, for the rest of the night.

She pulled her arm from his grasp curtly and limped over to the bedroll, lowering herself gingerly to its surface. She felt embarrassed and just a bit mortified at her child-like fear. "Yes, I am aware of that!" she snapped, peevishly. "I simply do not enjoy them. They are loud and a nuisance." She sat up as straight as she could, folding her hands in her lap, tossing the length of her hair behind her shoulders. She looked anywhere but out the window, where a brilliant, blinding flash of lightning filled the room. "I am not afraid of them," she whispered softly. A roll of thunder crashed upon the roof, shaking the entire house, the screens rattling in their frames. With a startled cry, she covered her head with her arms, as if she expected that the very roof would collapse upon her.

An amused smirk crossed over his lips and he shook his head faintly._ Not afraid, hmm? She could have fooled me. _"I have half a mind to shove you out into the rain and let you suffer. It is harmless." Pausing, he tipped his head, glancing toward his screen with a thoughtful 'hmm' in his throat. "Well, unless you consider the fact that lightning can split a large tree down its center within the blink of an eye." Shrugging slowly he turned his head, his chin lowering to regard her trembling form. "What is your age," he questioned out of the blue, one brow lifting beneath the mask.

Raising her head from her arms, her body still shaking from the terrifying roll of thunder, she stared up at him and tried to get past the fear choking her. Swallowing, feeling tears well up, as they always did during these storms, she tried to pull herself back from the blind terror that she was flung into when a particularly bad one hit. Finally she calmed herself, and looked down, playing with the drawstrings of her tunic. "I'm twenty-four, sir," she whispered past the lump in her throat. She cast a wary eye out the window, and drew a shuddering breath as she watched a snake like bolt of lightning strike in the distance. It was far away, far enough that it would not harm her, but she had a hard time telling herself that. She remembered all too well the massive flash that night that had illuminated the two bodies upon the ground, their blood soaking into the wet earth. She shut her eyes tightly and turned bodily away from the sight outside.

"Oh?" That brow ticked higher and he nodded slowly. _How ironic…. _Silently he observed her, taking in the way she almost seemed to hide from the noises that were rumbling across the sky. Thunder wasn't that frightening, not to him anyway. But Anna...she seemed to want to dig herself a hole and bury herself until the storm passed. Stepping away from her he rested along side of his bedroll, and slipping thin fingers beneath the neck of his violin he drew it close to him and tucked the curve beneath his chin. Gathering the bow, he loosened his fingers and rested the fine fibers along the strings. "I am curious. Why are you frightened of storms? I would think that they would bring ...mm, peace." Closing his eyes he began playing, a slow streaming of gentle notes in the thunder licked air.

_Peace? _They brought anything but peace to her. Since that horrible night, after the Kyomis had first taken her in, begrudgingly of course, she had lived in fear of the next storm. During the spring, when the rains came down hard and fierce, she barely slept. A roll of thunder or a streak of lightning across the sky threw her instantly back to that night, fifteen years ago. She turned toward him, the gentle melody calming her, soothing her. Placing a hand over her belly, taut with nerves, she raised her eyes to his and watched him play for a moment, lost in the sight of the man creating music. Finally, she blinked, then stared back down at her clasped fingers. "My parents were murdered fifteen years ago, on a visit here for father's work. It was storming then."


	14. Bitter Memories

**Chapter Fourteen:** Bitter Memories

"Go on," he urged quietly as she paused, his eyes cracking open so that he'd be able to look over at her. "Come, sit." A request it wasn't. He nodded toward the bedroll while taking a glimpse at her ankle. Standing there, she would be placing more stress upon the sore muscle and sinew. That just wouldn't do at all. Slowly, lazily, his eyes closed again and he turned more than half of his focus to the music, the other portion listened to what she had to say. The melody kept its soft, lilting caress, soothing to the soul. Along with the glide of the bow across the strings came his soft humming, barely heard over the violin's notes.

Anna crossed the room to his side, and sank down slowly beside him upon the bedroll, taking care to not over extend the ruined muscles of her ankle. With the soft notes of the violin and his voice weaving a gossamer web of peace about her, she closed her eyes, for once letting the images freely return to her. She told him, "I was nine at the time. Father was a professor, a tutor, a successful one. One of his wealthier clients invited us to join their family for a brief holiday here, while they met with some business associates interested in Japan's trading. We stayed at the Kyomis, who were acquaintances of the family of my father's student." She stopped for a brief moment, swallowed, and continued. "The night that they were killed Samurai came from the mountains. The Samurai are a clan of ancient warriors," she explained, "who very firmly believe in the old ways. They have an intense hatred of noblemen, such as the Kyomis, and Europeans. The Kyomi's and the client's families were gone at the time, at dinner when..." she paused, and closed her eyes, tears burning the backs of them, "when they attacked. Mother hid me in a closet...I could hear them screaming."

She took a deep breath and looked away, blinking rapidly, the memories of that night suddenly staring her in the face. "I left my hiding place and went outside. I was afraid and wanted to know what was going on. It was storming, horribly. I could see nothing. Then a flash came, and I saw my parents, kneeling upon the ground. Two men in Samurai armor slit their throats." She covered her mouth, nearly sick with the memories, then recovered. "The murderers took no notice of me running out to my parents after they had mounted their horses and left. When the Kyomis returned home, the client's family refused to take me in. I became the Kyomi's house servant." She broke off, her tears now falling down her face. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and sat up straighter, looking anywhere but at him.

Briefly the playing had paused and he glanced over toward her before allowing the song to continue, a light furrow over his brow beneath the draping of silk and papier-mache. He didn't know the loss of seeing a loved one die. _Or do I? _Luciana wasn't a loved one, though. There was...something forming there, but it was far too complex for him to think about it for too long. It was like a puzzle with several missing pieces, and trying to find them was far too frustrating. Shifting his weight faintly, he listened to the thunder as it growled its way into the near-silence, and a half smile formed upon his lips. He enjoyed storms, perhaps because he had nothing terrible to connect them to. "You are able to leave if you wish? If it was possible?" He tipped his head, glancing over toward her again.

She looked at him. She had often asked herself that very question. If she could leave, if she had the funds available, would she go? _Where_ would she go? She stared at the hardwood floor before her and leaned forward, her hair falling over one shoulder, and rubbed up a bit of dust with one finger. Finally she spoke, her voice quiet. "I am not paid for my work here. I would have no funds to leave with, no way possible. And even if I did...I have no where to go. I..." she straightened. "I have no family. I have no one to go_ to._" God, it sounded pathetic even to her own ears. She tipped her chin onto her shoulder and looked back at him. "Here, at least...I am needed. _Wanted_. Albeit, only for my able hands and body."

_Body? _Again the violin was silent and he regarded her impassively. "Just what do you mean by 'body?'" At first he wasn't going to ask, but the urge was far too great. He was dearly hoping that this wouldn't be another country that accepted legalized _rape._ Finding that the urge to play had dwindled down to nothing, he lowered the instrument to his lap and placed the bow across his thighs. Fingers splayed over the wood and strings, his eyes upon her still, curiously. Yet there was something else within that dual-colored gaze.

Her cheeks flaming and her eyes lowered, she played once again with that spot upon the floor, which had suddenly become very interesting to her. "If a guest or a member of the household demands the use of my body, I must obey. It is the role of a female servant to serve her male masters' physical needs as well." And it was something that she had dreaded, for years, ever since when, at the age of thirteen, her menses had come. 'If it bleeds, it breeds,' Mistress Kyomi had told her that day. The thought had nearly made her ill. But she had been lucky so far, _very lucky_. "As it happens, Japanese men find European women, especially those already golden with too much sun, very unappealing as a concubine. My virginity remains intact. I cannot say that I will never be used, but so far...I have not been chosen by any of Master's acquaintances." She blushed again and turned away.

It was a good thing that he had moved his hands from the violin, for he would have cracked the neck of it with tightly curled fingers. "I see," he stated calmly. All too calmly. He would never understand people like that, those who would take a woman when she was unwilling, fighting and struggling. They needed to be slaughtered like the pigs they are. There were many different reasons as to why this bothered him to a vicious extent, one of which being that no human should be abused in such a manner. He couldn't help but remember Javert's grubby hands and suggestive remarks. With a disgusted shudder his stomach curdled, and he carefully laid the violin off to the side before resting his hands upon his knees again. Kito came to mind then and his mouth settled in a thin, dour line. _He remained intact… for now.  
_  
She raised her eyes as he laid aside the violin, his lips set in lines of..._disgust?_ Biting her lip, she turned on the bedroll and faced him, her fingers pulling at the seams of her trousers. She cocked her head to the side and studied him from beneath her lashes. It was her personal experience, from her years in this country, that most men took the use of a woman's body for granted, uncaring if she was harmed during the taking. But yet, at the mention of what her duties entailed, if she was ordered, he had visibly recoiled from her. She wondered, briefly, if he did not care for women, or if he found the act of sex offensive. It was something that she had always feared, knowing nothing more of sex than the pain that the woman often had to experience. There was a constant worry, at the back of her mind, that one day she would be asked to service a male guest. _Or Kito_. She shuddered, then looked back at him. "You find the custom offensive then? Or do you not enjoy women?" She tilted her head, knowing that he could punish her for such impudence, but she longed to know more about him.

"I find the custom highly offensive. No one should be subjected to such..." As eloquent and articulate as he could be, he just wasn't able to put the rest of that thought into a sentence. Flustered and irritated, the comment tapered off in a sputtered growl. The question of his preferences was left blissfully unanswered. He glanced away from her, gathering the violin to place it upon the nearby table. The bow was lifted and he smoothed his fingers over the course hairs and placed it along side the violin. He couldn't answer that last question even if he wanted to. Ignorance was his worst enemy in this instance.

She looked away from him, ashamed of herself, as he moved to the table and set down the violin. She had forgotten her place, and had spoken out of turn, questioning him on a subject she had no right to even discuss with a male, much less her master. Blushing, she shifted upon the bedroll, thinking about it, and bracing her hands upon the floor, pressed to her feet, keeping her injured ankle lifted slightly. She turned to him, wrapping an arm about her stomach. "I am going to go change out of my riding clothes. It's very nearly dawn and I still have chores that need to be completed whether the masters are here or not." She turned and limped to the door, her back and shoulders aching, soon to be aching even more from her morning duties. When she neared the screen, she faced him once more. "Shall I bring you bath water? Or more tea?"

"Both…" Distracted, he mumbled the answer to her questions then moved the violin again to tuck it into its case. With the bow following, he closed the lid and snapped it shut. Pressing to his feet, he gathered the case to carry it over to the snake's pen. Resting it on the floor, he turned around, looking over the room slowly. The furniture was so sparse, but a table and bedroll to his name. That had to be changed, even if he didn't plan to be living here for long. "Tomorrow we..." Pausing, he glanced to her foot and twisted his lips faintly. "Next week we shall take a trip to the market. I believe I need more furniture. This room is looking as bare as my skull."

She gave him a slight nod, oddly pleased that he would take her injury into consideration and turned, leaving the room. Minutes later, dressed in a soft gray linen kimono, her hair once again bound back tightly at her nape, she set his tea to boil. On the spur of the moment, she ground dark beans and made him a richer, thicker black tea, wanting to please him. With the fragrance filling the house, she filled two buckets with steaming water and limped awkwardly to his room. His screen remained open and she entered and filled his basin, then hurried away for more, or hurried as fast as she could with the wrapped foot, and returned with more water and his favored soaps and oils. For a brief moment, she let one hand drift through the nearly scalding hot water, imagining what bliss it would be to immerse her sore body in it. But the whistle of the kettle in the kitchens pulled her from her simple fantasy and she rushed to get his tea. She brought a pot and a cup of the rich, fragrant brew to him minutes later and held the cup out to him.

Where earlier he had had the snake on him, this time he had his other little friend. For now it was left out of her sight, more from the darkness of his kimono than from trying to hide the creature. Taking the cup with his free hand, he placed it off to the side and glanced over to the now filled basin. A bath would do well, mostly to clean off the disgusting sensation that was upon his skin, brought on by the memories of Javert. Though the conversation with Anna was long over with, the memory of that grimy keeper was enough to make his skin crawl. The reddish haze of the covered candle flickered briefly against the glossy shell of the scorpion as it traveled from his sleeve and down to the hem; the new positioning of his arm luring it. Turning his attention to the insect, he carefully tucked his hand beneath the pinchers, urging the thinner legs to crawl upon the back of his hand, his skin deathly pale compared to the pitch-jet of the exoskeleton.

After leaving him in his room with the new form of tea, which she noticed she had received no thanks for, she limped away to the kitchens to begin making a morning meal. _For whom? _she wondered briefly. She was not permitted to cook only for herself, as it was seen as wasteful, and Erik was going to be in his bath...she frowned at the stove top, then turned and left the kitchen. She glanced down one hallway, then down the other. She could make the beds, she reasoned. After doing that, she decided to spend some time in the gardens. Mistress had mentioned that the strawberry patches and flower beds needed weeding. The apple and cherry blossoms also needed to be pruned out a bit and the flowers would make the house a great deal brighter. _Perhaps Erik would enjoy some blooms in his room. _He had been complaining that his living quarters were too plain. Deciding to do that, she gathered a basket and a large, floppy hat, plunked it on her head and headed outside. Moments later, she was on her knees, weeding the strawberry patches, sneaking a bite here and there, her eyes on the breathtaking sunrise beyond the garden.

"How could something like you be feared?" he questioned the creature as it stared back at him with beady black eyes. He held it before his face, only a few inches away from the mask, even though there was still vulnerable flesh open to be struck. For now the six-segmented tail was curled and relaxed. He could sit there and stare at it all day, forgetting about time and the world around him. But there was a bath calling to him, even if the water had cooled down by now. "I suppose it is because you are ugly, and foreign." Raising his free hand, he slowly grazed a fingertip from one claw, over its back, and down the other claw. He repeated the light touch, and the tail curled further, bringing a faint smile to his lips. "Harmless… I will have to let you go soon, my friend. I cannot have them find you here, should they wish to blame me for that fool's sickness. Why, I believe I would be more concerned about your well being than my own." Gently taking the scorpion by its tail, he lifted it from his hand and lowered it back into the wicker box. Closing it carefully he set it aside then proceeded to strip from his clothing, folding them and placing them along side the basin. His fingers hovered at his mask, then, with a glance back toward the screen, he slipped his hands behind his head and loosened the strap. Placing it aside, he slipped into the water with a purring sound of contentment in his throat. Releasing a languid sigh he sank deeper until he was completely below the heated surface.

In the gardens, she finished the weeding of the strawberry patches and the flower beds, then stood, brushing off the dirt from her hands and knees, and limped over to the compost pile, tossing the discarded weeds upon its top. The sun had risen halfway from the horizon, most of the sky still a hazy, soft pinkish blue, the breeze cool, but gentle against her skin, causing the loose strands of her hair to flutter about her face under the hat. In the kitchens she found a strong, sharp knife and headed to the trees, moving amongst them silently, forced to lean on a slender trunk every once in a while when her foot ached too badly. She sliced off several wildly blooming branches that were disturbing the balance of the trees and dropped them into her long basket, draped on one arm. The fragrance scented the air heavily, and she began to hum softly in the back of her throat, an old lullaby her mother had often sang to her. Soon the basket was full and the trees once again unburdened. She left the quiet peace of the garden reluctantly and moved back into the house. In the hallway, she set her basket upon a small table and removed her hat, rotating her knotted shoulders. As she moved about the house, dropping branches into vases, she rubbed her neck with one hand, kneading tight muscles. Finally, she opened a supply closet and found a simple black lacquer vase. Arranging two or three particularly lovely branches in it, she carried the arrangement to Erik's room, and knocked quietly on the screen.

A more cynical portion of his mind made him wonder if it was possible to just remain submerged in his bath and never drift back up, but he did. The heat of the water did well in soothing the soreness of his face, caused by the constant press of the mask and the unavoidable rubbing. The cooler air calmed the mangled flesh further. Creating a thick lather with his hands he took up the sponge, working the suds into its soft surface, then began scrubbing his skin roughly. Easily and quickly it turned red beneath the pressure, as if he was trying to scrape off the first few layers of his skin; anything to get the memory of that man's hands off of him. He scrubbed cheeks, arms, in places, even, he had never touched. It was the knocking that had him pause, and he dropped the sponge into the water along with his hands. Rinsing off the excess lather, he picked up the mask and replaced it with a practiced movement. "Enter," he muttered faintly over his shoulder. Tugging the straps tightly to ensure that they wouldn't come loose, he sank until the water surrounded his throat.

Anna slid the screen open and stepped inside his room, her hand wrapped about the tall, slender black vase. She shut the screen quietly behind her then looked up. Her cheeks flushed a dark pink when she saw him in the bath, the water up to his throat. She turned her eyes away quickly, her heart picking up its tempo, remembering the sight of his chest all too well that evening a week ago in this very room. _What is wrong with me? _She kept her eyes averted and moved to the low table beside the bedroll. "Forgive me," she hurried, her tongue tripping over itself in her mouth. "I had believed you to be out of the bath." She arranged the flowers quickly. "I thought that some blooms might make your room a bit brighter, and thought these were particularly pretty ones. Forgive me." Giving him a quick bow, her cheeks still pink and her eyes still lowered, she limped from the room as quickly as she could.

Though the distance between them had been too great, his hands had unconsciously found positions of modestly, shifting only slightly when he turned his head and shoulders a fraction to glance back toward her. _Flowers?_ Raising a brow he glanced at the blooms in an idle study. At least they weren't hideous. "They do make an interesting addition, no?" Turning his head back around he listened to her half limp, half drag her way across the floor and shook his head gently. "You should rest. The more you strain your ankle, the longer it will take for it to heal. I will simply tell the Kyomis that I had you assist me last night. If they have a problem with it, then they can speak to me of the matter.

She paused in the doorway and turned back to him, letting her gaze meet his briefly before lowering her eyes again. She reached out a hand and absently rubbed at the knots in the back of her neck. "I am tired...and very sore." She looked back at him, only his head visible above the edge of the basin. "You are very lucky to have hot water available at all times," she murmured quietly, then shook her head slightly. "Yes, with your permission, I will go to my room and lie down. Perhaps I'll convince my muscles to cease aching." She turned her gaze back to the flowers, then met his eyes again before disappearing. "I had hoped you would enjoy them." Her lips tipped into a soft smile and she left him to his bath, eager to get off of her feet.

"Prepare one for yourself." He lifted his voice slightly, enough so that she'd hear him during her exit. He saw no harm in allowing her a heated bath, especially with all the work she did around the house. Her muscles had to be sore, and that wouldn't assist in the least when it came to working. It would only cause her limbs to lock up more, so that she wouldn't be able to work at all. Lifting one hand he rubbed his palm against his scalp, kneading over the thin layering of hair and along the back of his neck, all the while careful of the fastened strap. While looking into the water he considered remaining there all day. It would've been nice, if the water wouldn't get cold.

She considered his words as she headed to her room. The thought of a hot bath, something she hadn't enjoyed in many years, was nearly enough to make her knees weak with longing. The masters would not return anytime soon, and Erik, who was her master while they were gone, _had_ given her permission to draw herself one. Surely there would be no harm in it. The Masters Kyomi would never know. Deciding that the idea was simply to enticing to pass up, she gathered a towel and her robe from her small room, then limped to the Mistress' private room, throwing wide the screens that led to the massive sunken basin. In the kitchens, she heated water, then carried bucket after bucket to the basin, her anticipation growing with every step. Finally she had the bath full of steaming water, and she even convinced herself to take one of the Mistress' soaps, a vanilla scent that she rarely used, and a bit of cinnamon oil, which she sprinkled liberally over the water. At last she stripped off her kimono, the bindings about her breasts, and the under-shift. Carefully, fearfully she stepped into the water, gasping, then moaning softly as she submerged herself fully. Shelet the heat soak into her musclesbefore letting her hair down and ducking completely below the surface.

If only she was allowed this bliss more often.


	15. Finished Plans And Unfinished Business

**Chapter Fifteen:** Finished Plans And Unfinished Business

It was a joy having no one around besides himself and Anna for a little over a week. The symptoms of the bite had become so severe that Nio and Dakuro wished to remain at the doctor's home, ensuring they would be there should their son meet his end fate. He didn't, though. Just as he had told Anna the boy would survive, unfortunately. Kaleb had finally made it to Japan, and he fit in quite well when it came to dealing with the customs. Given his own small hut to work from Erik only visited him a few times, ensuring that the plans were coinciding. Soon the buildings would be started. By day he indulged in the learning of the Japanese language by both writing and speaking, and by night it was he that had been the teacher by way of French prose. It was a well enough trade. Paper lightly rustled as he worked upon yet another sketching, adding in the changes that Dakuro wished for the homes. Bigger he wanted, bigger he would get. Unfortunately, he was on his third pencil considering Kito's nails across a chalkboard whining was grating on his last nerve. "Blasted child," he mumbled, ignoring the fact that the one he spoke of was probably around his age.

"_Anna_! My tea! _Now_, you _wretched girl_! In the kitchens, her small form bent over the counter as she carefully poured a cup of freshly boiled green tea into a delicate cup, Anna shut her eyes tightly, her bottom lip captured savagely between her teeth until she tasted blood. He did not know how to ring the bell that he had been given, apparently! Instead he wailed for her throughout the house, his high pitched petulant whine causing her hands to grow unsteady with her task. Scalding liquid splashed onto her thumb and wrist, and she cried out softly with pain. She dashed to the basin of cool water to ease the burn, her ankle now healed completely, but Master Kito once again began to curse her, demanding his tea.

Pressing the throbbing flesh to her kimono, she lifted the tray with one hand and hurried to his room. Even as she served him the tea, he hurled insults at her, calling her stupid and inept. She bore up under the abuse silently, then left. In the kitchens once more she sunk the injured hand into the cool water and hissed as it touched the tender spot. But she had no time to ease the pain as Mistress Kyomi found her to go over the dinner plans for the night. This evening was to be the gathering of several of the Master's clients, the men of influence who were having their homes commissioned by Kyomi's prized architect. Their families would also be in attendance. "Perfection!" Mistress stressed to her.

He wasn't going to enjoy this evening, not in the least. Last thing he desired was to be placed on display around a bunch of foreigners. Never mind the fact that he was the black sheep here. Flipping to the last page he had worked on, he shifted the papers upon his new desk. This one was still low, but at least it was high enough from the ground where he could slip his folded legs beneath. The room was beautifully furnished now, though not extensively. All he needed were a few pieces to suit him. There was also an elaborate, dragon print silk screen that separated the basin from the rest of the room just in case he wanted to relax within heated water while she was in the room. That had yet to happen, but the screen was there nevertheless. Propping his brow against his palm, he scratched his fingers through his hair slowly, disturbing the strands that no longer held their peach fuzz quality. Checking his pot for the tenth time, he realized that tea wasn't going to show up in there just by looking, and gathering the pot in hand, he rested the pencil aside then pressed to a stand. Glistening, royal blue silk fluttered to his bare feet as he made his way to the screen and out toward the kitchens.

Anna stood before the wooden butcher block and placed her hands upon its cool surface, trying her best to ignore the welt that was rapidly forming upon her left one. Spread upon the block's surface lay a couple heads of cabbage, bean sprouts, a long plump eggplant, drained flat pieces of seaweed, shitake mushrooms, and a large bowl of uncooked rice. The food before her were the ingredient for the first course, a simple salad of lightly cooked vegetables. She glanced over the produce, insuring that each item was ripe and perfect, with no rotten spots. Satisfied, she picked up her large knife that she had sharpened earlier and began quartering the heads of cabbage. As she worked she recited some simple nursery rhymes that Erik had taught her this last week, her low, soft voice speaking in clumsy French. The gentle words could barely be heard over her chopping, as she intended. The Masters forbade her any kind of education.

"You must make your 'n's' a bit more nasally," he rose his voice just a bit over the chopping and lowered the pot to the table. Sliding it across as he stepped further into the kitchen, he glanced over it slowly. He was probably not even supposed to be in there; knowing these people they might have set up the kitchen as a 'servants area' only. "Is there any more black tea left? And perhaps a bit of something to eat... that is cooked." While he was finally a little hungry, eating raw fish just didn't appeal to him, and he didn't have any wishes to try it any time soon. Turning around, he leaned back against the edge of a counter, his arms folding loosely across his stomach, sending the dragon etched cuffs to writhing in a silent dance before they were stilled with the rest of him.

"My 'n's' " she repeated to herself, as she sat down the knife and placed the heads of cabbage, now shredded, into an empty bowl, which she set aside. Turning, she moved to the stove, where she already had a pot of the rich, black tea percolating, in anticipation of Erik requesting more. She repeated the same phrase again, this time using more air from her nasal passages as she spoke. Her tongue, still unfamiliar with the language, fumbled about a bit, but it was a bit better than her previous attempts. She took the pot off of the stove top and poured him a fresh cup, which she handed to him upon a saucer. Gathering a bowl, she took the lid off of a tall pot and ladled him some clear chicken broth, with tiny leeks and slivers of mushroom floating in it. The soup was hot and fragrant, as it has been slowly boiled all morning for the best flavor. Along with the bowl and a spoon, she also set some rounds of rice crackers, and some small cakes that she had baked that morning upon a plate and placed them beside of him on the counter, where he leaned. She wiped some hair back into her tight bun and then looked up at him. In her best French possible, she asked him, "Will this do, sir?"

"_Mes, mes. _Not _mos. _Repeat again" Gently correcting her '_monsieur_' he nodded gently. She was doing a little better. It was a pleasant thing that he was rather patient, other wise his teaching of her might have been ceased some time ago. Taking the saucer from her, he gathered the handle of the cup in his other hand and brought it to his lips, but not to drink. First he drew in a slow breath of the brew, gathering the scent of it deeply into his lungs. Tipping the cup slowly, he took down a gentle sip and regarded the soup she had settled off to the side. No floating pieces of raw fish, a good thing in his eyes. Placing the saucer and cup aside, he picked up the bowl and spoon, then slowly began stirring the contents. It smelled absolutely delightful. "What is this?"

Her hands once again occupied with the task of chopping vegetables, this time cubing the eggplant, she looked over at him, his thin long fingers stirring the china spoon about the bowl. The fragrance that was wafting from the soup was making her own mouth water and she became aware that she had not yet eaten. There was no time to eat! If tonight was not perfection in itself, heads would roll. Hmm, well, only one head. _Hers._ She would fit a small meal in somewhere, perhaps while the family and guests dined tonight. Setting the cubes of eggplant into the same bowl as the cabbage, she glanced over at him, noting the new, blue silk kimono that he wore, a garment that draped his narrow, tall form very well. "It's chicken broth, my own recipe. I boil water, chicken bones, leeks, and mushrooms all day. There are also powdered onions stirred in. It will be served for the second course tonight, at dinner. It's one of my favorite meals to prepare and to consume."

"How many are supposed to arrive tonight?" He was not looking forward to a crowd, not in the least, and it could probably be told within the very tone of his voice. Soft and silken, though displeased. Lifting the spoon to his lips, he blew on the surface slowly, ensuring that it was cooled before he tucked the spoon into his mouth. Rolling the taste upon his tongue he nodded faintly. _Not bad at all. _Placing the spoon aside, he cupped the small bowl between his fingers and tipped it to his lips slowly. He had seen the others drink their soup, though that was all broth. He drank it down enough to be able to scoop up the solid portions without worrying about trying to fish them out.

Quite honestly surprised to see him eating, so rarely did he do so, she turned from him as he sipped his soup, and finished preparing her vegetables, making quick work of the rest. She set a large kettle of water to boil upon the stove and poured in the uncooked rice, adding a pinch of salt to assist the cooking. The long, iron griddle that was inlaid between two counters was set to heat, small flames appearing beneath it. She trickled oil onto the surface and let it sizzle as she turned back to him. "Three families are to arrive. From what I understand it will be three couples, four sons, two daughters." She poured the cut vegetables upon the now hot griddle to sear them. Sesame seeds were added, along with some thin brown sauce, a mixture of soy beans and spices. She turned about the kitchen and assessed what had been done so far. The main course, red snapper, would be seasoned and put into the oven once the first course had been served. She turned back to him, paused, and gave him a smile, albeit a rather shy one. "You will have to attend. I'm afraid the only one exempt from the evening will be I." As a mere servant, she would serve dinner, then be expected to disappear, lest she embarrass her masters.

Three couples, four sons and two daughters? If he had that count correct, she was speaking of twelve people, excluding the owners and the remaining son of this house? The idea of being around fifteen people brought a faint shudder, and he lowered the bowl off to his side, suddenly losing his urge to eat. "I see," had become a common phrase when he was in too much distaste, or simply thought, to express any other comment. Shaking his head slightly he pressed up from the counter's edge, his arms folding again across his stomach, hands partially concealed by the wide sleeves of the kimono. "And I am afraid that my attendance will be rather short lived. I dislike crowds. Greatly."

Anna peered up at him through her lashes, then lowered her eyes to her feet. It was no new revelation to her that this man had a dislike, even an intense one, for others. He spent the least amount of time he possibly could with the members of the household, sequestering himself in his room nearly all the hours of the day. She knew that he worked there, when he was not playing his violin, but she could not say if that was _all_ he did. Her time with him, on the evenings that he taught her to speak French and his own lessons in Japanese, was brief compared to the amount of time he spent alone. Even after two weeks of his acquaintance, he still was very withdrawn from her, though she was the one that spent time in his company the most. He still shied from her accidental touches, he still had a haughty disdain of her.

Tonight would not be pleasant for him or for the Master, for that matter. Would he tolerate his much-sought-after architect disappearing early in the evening? Her eyes strayed unconsciously to the mask. Did what lay behind it dictate his reclusive, cold behavior. Frowning inwardly, deciding to take the risk, she opened her mouth to ask him _why_ he hated crowds. "You little cow!" A voice screeched from within the house. _Kito_. "Come get this cold tea! _Now!" _Her eyes sunk closed, and she turned away from Erik, turned down the heat on the vegetables, and hurried from the room.

Pressing his lips thinly he glanced toward the door then down to Anna as she made her way out. Shaking his head, he picked up the soup, deciding to try to choke down the rest of it just to give his stomach something to feed upon instead of its own lining. Scooping up the vegetables that were lingering within the last portions of the broth and tucking them into his mouth, he drank the final dregs of the soup and placed the bowl aside. Regarding the tea pot that was set up for Kito, he had the unbelievable urge to put something in the brew. Perhaps a concoction that would have him on the pot for hours. A thin smile crossed over his lips and he shook away that thought before it would actually come to pass. Taking his saucer and cup, he made his way back to his room so she could be able to finish dinner without being distracted.

Anna stood in the center of the kitchen, the Mistress beside of her. The older woman's eyes scanned the layout of food upon the counters, the salad, the soup, the fish and rice, then the pastries. Upon a tray sat tea and sake, fifteen cups already stacked neatly. To her servant's relief, Nio gave a firm, satisfied nod, and ordered Anna to begin serving in five minutes. She left to go wait with her husband and their guests, three distinguished families, all clients of Kyomi, purchasing homes that were to be built by Erik, his exclusive, much desired architect. Tonight was crucial. Not only to her husband's fortune, but also her own standing and that of her family. The two daughters, beautiful, well bred creatures, were prime choices as brides for Kito. Tonight could bring about a very fortuitous match. Exactly five minutes later, Anna appeared in the frame way, wearing her best kimono, her hair pinned back and decorated with a black, sequined dragon pin, her eyes lined in kohl, and her lips painted, as was traditional with female servants on nights such as this one. The first course was served, silently and perfectly. Smiles were passed between the two daughters and her son.

Assessing glances were cast at her servant by the sons, then quickly moved on, dismissing her as undesirable. As Anna left, Nio lifted her eyes to Erik and frowned. He had better impress this night as well. There was only one way he could deal with the family as well as the others at this point and time, and with the lazy way he regarded the others, it would have been no surprise if it was guessed properly that he had indulged in a poppy cake or two. Changed from the blue kimono, it was his highly elaborate one that he wore. The color of spilled blood, stitching was laced over the material from a steady hand. A round each folded back black sleeve was an ouroboros -- a serpent biting its tail -- in the same red. It was the back he admired the most. Over his time here he had searched through different Japanese creatures, learning of them intensely. Especially the meanings behind the dragons, cranes and tigers. It was one particular dragon that he had upon his back, one that was hardly benevolent, highly magical, and often the harbinger of death. It fit him so well. Even the mask matched, covering his face fully -- though with a portion that could be pulled free around the mouth -- that had the same dragon upon his right cheek. He rested silent and still, his hands tucked into his sleeves and form rigid. Though he had noticed that Nio glanced over, he didn't move save for the slow rise and fall of his chest with his breathing. He was there, but his mind was miles away.

The occupants at the table took little notice of the silent, brooding presence seated amongst their midst. Dakuro had forewarned his clients that his "prize" was a man of very few words and even fewer concerns. 'Prize..' It was a good thing that he wasn't there when Dakuro had stated that to his company. That wouldn't go along well with Erik, drugged or not. He had advised them that Erik would most likely not speak or even draw attention to himself. But the Hoshi, Rikoro, and Mao families were not interested in _speaking_ to the man who would design their homes. They only wished to see the plans, then stare at this strange creature – an object really -- who would catapult them to even higher status amongst their countrymen. It seemed to balance out quite well, to Dakuro's way of thinking. By remaining silent, unmoving, not even acknowledging the others, he was only feeding their hunger to own a home created by such a curiosity. The evening drew to the close, invitations were made to any who wished to stay the night, and Anna entered once more, her face carefully made up, and served the sake. He found his son's eyes lingering on the servant's form, and decided to speak to Kito later. The boy had been a nuisance as of late. He obviously needed a woman. His attention was drawn back by one of the slender, lovely daughters, Hoshi's child, who sweetly inquired of Kito's injury and expressed her sorrow over his pain. Dakuro sat back, satsified. Perhaps he would have a daughter-in-law by the end of the year.

Finally Erik came out of his own little world, drawn by the voice of one of the nearby daughters, and turning his head slightly, dual-colored eyes fixed a sedated stare upon her, absently gazing over her chosen make up. All this for that little brat across the way. "How sentimental," he stated dryly, his expression concealed by the lick of shapeless black silk. Sickened by the false display of formalities, he lowered his hand to his side, gathering the bundled scrolls that were waiting there. Three in sets of three, he tossed one to the heads of the house -- even going as far as tossing one directly over the table to land in Mao's lap. "I trust you will find the designs adequate enough. If not beyond your expectations." Though his voice should have been muffled behind the mask, it came out crystal clear..from the center of the table. "Building will progress as soon as I have your approvals, which I expect by tomorrow. The earlier I begin, the more quickly your precious sons and daughter in laws will have a house to live in. After all, we all know just how annoying they can be when beneath their parents wings for far too long." Cool appraisal shifted over toward Kito, and one could almost see the venomous smile upon his lips.

The younger man's lips curled back in a sneer, but he only nodded his head, raising his brows. So, the creature finally makes his hand clear...Kito was well aware that Erik was responsible for that incident a week ago, an incident that still bore its mark upon his ankle. It had healed for the most part, though he did not care for over exerting himself. The intense agony he had suffered for several days was still fresh in his mind. The doctor had intoned to him that it had been the bite of a large insect, perhaps a scorpion. _A large one_. It would have been impossible for so large an insect to get into the house, unnoticed. That filthy corpse had planted it, punishing him for that broken violin! Rage threatened to bubble from him, but he suppressed it, keeping it simmering instead. Oh, he would pay that _thing_ back for it! He couldn't out and out harm him. His father needed him too much. But he'd punish him, somehow. He needed to hurt something. Anything. His eyes lingered on Hoshi's daughter, on her delicate lips and fine features. He felt a jolt of lust, but he tamped it down. That creature's little trick had kept him from his mistress' bed for nigh unto a week now. He'd pay for that too. He looked once more at Anna, who was bowing, leaving the room backward. He followed the curve of her face, her throat, her body. Her eyes met his and leered at her, not bothering to disguise it. She blanched and hurried away. He nearly laughed out loud. He looked back at Erik, took a sip of sake and smiled at him.

Whether it was the smile or the disgusting look of lust in the boys eyes as he watched Anna, Erik's eyes narrowed to thin, glinting slits, only for them to rest in their normal widened state with the faintest crinkling at the corners. He was smiling. He wanted to fight fire with fire. So be it. Erik knew that his burns could be more severe and cause an unfortunate, incurable case of death. Turning away from Kito, his attention drifted to the others upon hearing the rustle of the opening parchments. The sounds of awe were expected, and thus gained no reaction from him. Sliding his hand free from the sleeve, he pressed the cup of sake away from him, refusing to touch the substance. After waking up with a splitting headache the first time, he wanted nothing to do with such a potent drink. Slipping long fingers back into his sleeve, he curled them against his wrist, holding loosely.

The comment of one drew his gaze to him. "These plans are folly. They're impossible!"


	16. Unwanted Company

**Chapter Sixteen:** Unwanted Company

Kyomi Dakuro's head lifted, his attention drawn from his cup of fine sake to the indignant cry of Hoshi. The man was staring down at the plans, his head shaking back and forth slowly, his brow furrowed. The client's angered eyes met his. "You expect me to believe this? The dimensions of the rooms are far too large for a house this size! If these were to be correct, then the layout should be twice this!" He sat back, smacking the rolled up plans in his palm and Erik remained listless, listening silently to the ranting. "What do you think to pull, Kyomi? Have you hired an architect who hides behind a mask as well as nonsensical notions?" Hoshi tossed the plans back across the table, the parchment landing at its executor's elbow. Dakuro waited, patiently, holding his piece. He had wondered himself at Erik's hare-brained ideas. That is until they had been explained to him one day. He suspected that his client would soon be biting his own tongue.

Glancing to the plans, Erik then slid his gaze right back over toward Hoshi. His head tipped faintly and he curled his fingers beneath the silken sleeve, using the tapered nails to scratch against the pale flesh. "The land which you have chosen is upon an incline. The base of a mountain to be precise. The home will be built in tiers, drawing up the side of the incline without tipping the home itself. Should you flatten this hill, the measuring will be precise to each and every dimension." One brow lifted, regardless of it being unseen beneath the layer of shapeless silk and plaster. "Or perhaps you would rather have me build next to the farm land? A beautiful plot, I must agree. Though the water table is high, creating a pocket of quick sand that would have the building sinking within the next rain season."

Thoroughly mollified and perhaps a bit embarrassed, Hoshi gave a stiff nod after reaching once again for the plans and perusing them. He sat back, crossed his arms, and gave a grunt of begrudging satisfaction. The copy of the plans for each home were rolled back up and put away, each future owner of that particular abode beyond pleased and more than a little awed by Kyomi's newest finding. This _Erik_ as he was called would surely become all the rage amongst those seeking the finest, _rarest _homes to flaunt beneath their peers' noses. What a curiosity he was! What a prime piece of gossip he would make! The ladies' heads were already filled with tales to be told the following day. The daughters already quite fixated on the mask and that voice spoke among themselves as the men congratulating themselves on their good fortune. Anna returned during the midst of this silent and retrieved the sake cups, now empty, then refilled them. Without drawing her masters' eye, she did not set Erik's back before him, but instead set a cup of steaming dark tea in front of him.

His faint sneer hidden, he turned his gaze away from the men as they talked among themselves and let his attention fall upon the nearest daughter. Lazily he regarded her, taking in the pitch blackness of her hair, the pale makeup that was used for her face along with the rouge of her cheeks. For a moment his attention was set upon her glossy lips, not because of what might have been thought as the obvious reason, but only because the light had glinted in just the right way, bringing them to glisten. When captured upon the euphoric haze, any little thing could gather his attention. He wouldn't deny the fact that she was a pretty woman, for an Easterner, though his interests in women weren't as strong as in his arts. Or, at least he wouldn't allow it to become that strong. With yearning came a burning ache he had suffered through one time too many. Lifting his hand, he pressed it over the lower portion of his mask and using the pads of his fingers he pulled away the piece concealing his mouth. Setting it aside almost daintily, he curled his fingers around the hot cup. Well aware of the scalding liquid that was within, he blew over the top, cooling the contents as he watched Anna depart.

In the kitchens, she bent over a basin, and scrubbed the paint from her face, removing the white powder, kohl, and red gloss. When she raised her head, her eyes caught her own reflection in a shining, silver platter nearby and she smiled grimly. Gone was the brief, pretty creature. Come again was her plain, soft face, unremarkably featured and too simple to draw attention. There was no point to wear the paint past this hour in the evening. Now the cleaning up remained to be done, and she would be huddled over steaming, soapy water for the next hour or more, scrubbing the numerous dishes and cookware that resulted from such a large dinner party. She wished she could have remained falsely lovely at least a little longer. As she tied an apron about her kimono and sunk her hands into the tub of dishes and water, she thought about the way Erik had stared at that young woman's perfect lips before she had withdrawn from the room. _So he does prefer women..._pretty _women. _Why should that bother her so? It shouldn't, she spoke to herself inwardly. Of what import to her were his tastes? _None_. "None," she whispered to herself, as she worked, soapy to her elbows, the sleeves of her kimono pinned back. She was only a servant. She was of no importance. "None," she repeated to herself. With that, she focused on her task at hand. The sooner she was done here, the sooner she could escape to the pond. After the disgusting way that Kito had stared at her, she felt the need to scrub until her skin turned bloody.

There was only so much he could take before he got tired of the gathered people. He became bored quickly with the flirting glances cast his way as well as the glares gathered from Kito. Neither of them had fazed him in the least. Drinking down the last of his tea he placed the cup aside, and gathering himself from the floor mat, he eased to a tall stand, letting the black silk cascade about his feet. He had been sitting since the people arrived, having chosen to sit there while waiting for the others to enter and settle, so it was no surprise to him when he caught the startled glances from one of the daughters and the quizzical glance by more than one man at his height. With no bow given, or word of farewell, he made his exit just as quickly as his entrance. With the length of the kimono it almost looked as if he was truly floating across the floor, leaving them to stare at the embroidered face of the dragon. Making his way to his room, he closed the screen behind him, determined to remain until the others left. Then he just might take a stroll through the cool night.

Serving trays, saucers, plates, cups, and cutlery were replaced in their proper place, the soft click of china against wood not quite drowning out the raised voices in the other room. None of the guests had chosen to spend the night, having already made their farewells and thanks to the Masters. From what she could gleam from the angry voices of Kito and his father, their honored dinner companions had left, offended. Erik, who was apparently the main attraction of the evening, had left quite rudely, making no attempt at politeness or respect. Master Kito was verbally lashing out at the architect, who was nowhere to be seen. Master Kyomi was defending him. 'He was too valuable to turn away for his insolence,' he reprimanded the younger man. As she wiped down all the counters, giving one last thorough cleaning to the surfaces, she listened as the voices rose to a high volume, then heard the crack of flesh upon flesh. Kyomi had silenced his son. Anna smiled. She looked about her once more, then found the Mistress, requesting permission to bathe. It was given and she rushed to the pond minutes later, taking her hair down as she ran. She was sore all over, and sticky with sweat from hours of cooking and cleaning. This time, she whole heartedly welcomed the chill bite of the dark water. Taking time to swim first, she stared up at the moon above her, cherry blossoms silhouetted against the pale crescent. She considered the fact that Kyomi had struck his son. His patience was wearing thin...but with whom, she wondered as she floated. Had Erik risked Kyomi's ire tonight as well?

While he might have been insolent, his gestures were expected. Never did he give his farewell, or even a greeting, and always did he end up leaving meals before it was 'time to go.' Kito was becoming unruly in his hatred of Erik, and undoubtedly it would all come to a head sooner or later. Someone's patience was going to completely run out. Erik, surprisingly, prayed that it wasn't his. He was growing tired of running, and there was so much to learn in this land. He still had to understand the language completely, then there was the need to find out if the Japanese were, indeed, master swordsman. There would be no harm in learning. It was that very thought that plagued him in his room. Dakuro had a sword display, undoubtedly he knew how to use it. Could it be possible to learn from him? He would have to change his attitude, though he was already in the favor of the man...ill balanced, but still in his favor. With his violin taken up, he gently plucked the strings, testing the tuning before he finally exited his room to make his way toward the back garden. Lowering the bow and instrument at his sides he glanced down the dark corridors, then turned his attention forward again with a faint pursing of his lips. It was quiet, too quiet perhaps. Then again, Kito was probably in his room, bawling up a storm.

After several small turns about the pond in the cool water, Anna reached up for her soap, her eyes shut tight as rivulets ran down her face from her slicked back hair. But when she fumbled about, she found only grass. Frowning, she wiped the water from her eyes, and pulled herself upon the bank just slightly, raising only her upper torso from the water, and looked about for the bar, wrapped in cotton. Instead, she found a pair of sandals, broad, stubby toed feet within them. With a gasp of horror, she ducked back into the water, until it lapped at her chin and stared up at Kito. Her bar of soap was in his hand, clenched tightly. He was glaring at her, his eyes red rimmed and his left cheek red and welted.

"Looking for this?" he asked coldly, waving the soap slightly in the air. Quickly lowering her eyes, feeling like the mouse cornered by the cat, she nodded, saying nothing, her arms wrapped tightly about herself, shielding her body from his sight. "I thought as much," he drawled down at her. In one savage motion, he flung the bar at her, striking her right shoulder hard. She winced, but caught the soap and clutched it to her. "You had better tell that corpse you're so enamored with that he needs to learn _respect!_ I will not be made a fool of again. And neither will my father." With that, he turned and left, stepping carelessly onto her clean robe by the bank, and disappearing into the darkness of the garden. In the pond, Anna began to shake, but not from the cold. She realized her fingers were aching and noticed that she was gripping the bar of soap so hard, she had pressed grooves into it. Swallowing hard, she relaxed her hold, and began to numbly lather her hair.

The voice outside gathered his attention, and he inched closer to the screen to open it a bit more so he could be able to look outside. By time he had gotten there, Kito was already skulking off and Anna was alone within the pond, trembling and ten shades paler. Narrowing his eyes to thin slits, he shifted his gaze over toward the last place he had seen Kito then shaking his head slightly he adjusted his grip upon the violin while he considered heading back to his room. It wouldn't be proper to take his walk while she was bathing. _Just like it is not proper to stand there watching her? _He didn't realize that he was still there, his gaze upon her until that little cynical tone had clicked its way into his mind, and he scowled outwardly.

Working the last bit of soap from her long hair, Anna finally raised her eyes from the tiny cluster of pebbles she had been staring at for the last few minutes after Kito had left her. Her eyes widened as she saw Erik, nearly invisible against the black of the night, shrouded in dark silk, only his hands and his chin and lips visible. Those lips were scowling as he gazed at her, and she shrunk from the cool anger in his eyes. Surely he did not believe that Kito and her...Just the thought was enough to sicken her stomach. She sunk into the water until it only her shoulders and up were visible, ashamed that he had come upon her like this, with Kito just left from her...She pushed a lock of hair from her throat and met his gaze. "I did _not_ invite him here! He _is_ my master, but he disgusts me." She bit her lip, hoping that he did not assume the worst of her.

To her proclamation he said nothing, simply continued looking upon her impassively, taking in the fact that she had caught him in this forbidden act. She knew he was there now, just in the open screen, and he wondered if he should retreat or continue out. Instead, he remained there. His feet rooted by a singular rivulet that caught the moonlight as it caressed its way along the curve of her shoulder. He shook his head faintly, tearing himself from that image just as he had done with the glistening of the woman's lips. "I did not say you invited him here," he finally stated, curtly, just a bit irritated that she would accuse him of thinking something like that. It hadn't crossed his mind in the least. Perhaps because he had heard the tail end words of the spoiled boy who was angry because his toys were being taken away.

"I'm sorry, Erik." She ducked her head under his irritated stare. "I did not want you to believe that I was his...lover." Her damp cheeks turned pink and she raised a hand from the water and smoothed more hair from her face. Odd, that she did not feel as she had when she had caught Kito at the pond's side: violated, sickened. Instead, she felt fiercely shy and embarrassed. _I must look dreadful._ Then, with a sensation like that of a kick to the gut, she wondered how long he had been standing there. _Had he heard Kito..._ The words from the young master replayed in her brain _'...that corpse you're so enamored with...'_ _Oh dear God_! What if he had heard? She suddenly wished that she could shrink, grow as small as a tadpole, and swim away. Instead, she was rooted to the spot, naked in a chilly pond, with a man in front of her who might have just heard that she was _enamored_ with him. She wet her upper lip with her tongue in a nervous, familiar gesture, found that it was already damp, then bit her lip, mortified.

"If you were, it is your duty, is it not?" Though there was supposed to be sarcasm within his voice, it was cut short before it had a chance for the words to be venom filled. Instead they seemed rather stoic and unfeeling, having no real direction to go. _Just turn around and go, Erik. There is no sense in remaining there. _Instead of traveling backward, he found himself drawing closer to the pond instead. Stepping down the singular stair that settled him upon the stone path, he followed only part of its length before crossing over the grass in a silent stride. Slow, almost unsure. He was questioning the wisdom within such an action, but he decided he had a reason behind it. Her question from earlier concerning him and women. He didn't want her to think that he feared them, or that he hadn't seen one before in the nude.

As she watched him approach, slowly, almost...hesitantly, she thought about his question. Yes, it was her duty...if she was ever asked to lie with a male within the household, whether a master or a guest, she would have to obey, and give herself to him without a struggle. Even if Kito, who was the _last_ man she would ever allow to take her requested her to service him, she would have no choice in the matter. But simply because it was her duty did not mean that it was a duty she would gladly submit to. She was under no requirements to pretend that she enjoyed it or that she wished it. If Kito ever did demand her in his bed, she had already resolved that she would simply lie there, and count the tiles in the ceiling, recite favorite poems in her head, name every Saint, _anything_ until it was over. She raised her eyes to Erik as he neared her, and she lifted her chin. "It is my duty, if he should ever choose me to service him. It does not mean that I will find any pleasure in it. I'll loathe it...and I will make no secret of it." Where she found the boldness to speak to him in such a manner, she did not know.

Though he had drew close, he didn't come near enough where it would threaten what modesty she had. With the darkness, the water was doing well to conceal her body, and the soft glow from the half moon was partially concealed by the passing of dark clouds, betraying the storm that was to come. Lowering to a crouch he then settled in a sit, resting the violin across is lap, then the bow. His eyes had lifted from her, settling upon the sky to look upon the bright sparkling of stars that weren't concealed by the passing licks of darkness. Resting his hands against the instrument, he slid his fingers along the cherry wood slowly, feeling the markings that were carved into the surface. "That boy is becoming a nuisance."

In the water she shivered as her gaze followed his, finding the dark clouds passing over the moon. The air was growing colder, _fast_, and she could smell rain in the air. A storm was on its way. Thunder, lightning. Tiny goose pimples rose along her bare arms and she wrapped them about herself. The water was growing frigid as the night wore on. If she stayed in it much longer, she would be deathly ill by morning. Her eyes found her robe, lying beside of where he sat, and she chewed on her lip. She had to get dry..."Yes, he is. I should not speak of him so...but he detests you and the high esteem that Master Kyomi holds you in." She finally moved closer to the bank and looked up at him. "I...need to get out of the pond..." She blushed and looked away, then looked up once more at the storm clouds rapidly forming overhead.

Following her gaze to the robe before she glanced away, he set his lips thin, then collecting the violin and its bow, he pressed up to a slow stand and stepped back. Turning away from her he made for the path. So, he was held in high esteem by the master of the house, hm? Of course he was. The man didn't want to end up losing his money. It seemed there was a double success to his little plan. Not only would he gain the man's trust to be taught the ways of the sword, but make Kito insanely jealous, especially if he was treated like a son. The simple thought of it brought a cool smile to his lips. Wouldn't that just burn the little plump boy? That his own father would be welcoming a European as if he were his flesh and blood. The manipulative wheels were turning at full force now; it would be a joy making that lout miserable.

Behind him, she pulled herself onto the bank, and stood shivering and dripping as she wrapped the robe about her. She knotted it securely, then pulled her hair, sleek with water, loose from the collar, and let it hang heavily down her back. Her eyes on Erik's back, she wrapped her soap back into its scrap of cotton, then hurried to catch up with him. She didn't want to be left alone in the darkness, with a storm on her heels. A soft flash of lightning lit the air, and she ran faster, until she was at his side and could catch his silk-clad elbow in her hand. Stiffening a moment when her hand clasped at his elbow when he didn't expect it, he glanced down toward her, then drew his eyes forward again, relaxing only a notch. Watching her feet move across the grass, she looked up at him. "Kito should have long ago taken the reins of his father's holdings...but he has always been too drawn to the pleasures of the flesh and drink. I do not believe that Master Kyomi finds him worthy, _yet_, for his inheritance." A roll of thunder passed over head and she drew closer to him, her grip upon his elbow tightening.

Though her touch hadn't brought about pain, it was hard to forget all the years of torment and abuse and not flinch at all. Kindness had only came from one person's hand, and now did he repay him? By killing his daughter. Adjusting the sleeve slightly as the neckline was drawn off to the side with her hold, he dropped his hand near his outer thigh and soaked up the information like a sponge. "Oh? Interesting. Go on?" Raising a brow he continued walking until he reached the step, and ascending it, he eased the screen open the rest of the way.

Entering the house, she turned and watched him as he followed, sliding the screen shut behind him. It was no surprise to her that he wished to learn more about the recent dissatisfaction that Master Kyomi felt toward his son. In the two weeks that she had known this man, Anna had learned very quickly that while he was silent nearly all the day, he was observant, watching, listening, and soaking in anything that could possibly be of import. It was a trait that boded very ill for anyone who might choose to try to manipulate him. He would be a dangerous enemy, had _already_ been a dangerous enemy. She had grown a notch more comfortable in his presence, but not much. He still terrified her at times. So it was a bit warily that she made the decision to tell him more. "The Master holds high hopes that his son will show an interest in the land, his inheritance. Or in the development of that land. He has shown none, despite Master Kyomi's attempts. I...believe...that Master Kito thinks himself in the perfect right to assume his legacy...but...he sees himself as too young now." She turned and walked down the hall toward her room and his. "He thinks he still has too many oats to sew. He doesn't want the responsibility...yet...he is insanely jealous of any who find themselves in his father's good graces." She paused outside her room, and looked up at him, adjusting her robe. A roll of thunder made her wince. "Does that make sense?"  
"Why, it makes absolutely _perfect_ sense." A slow smile curled across his lips._ Insanely jealous, hm? _This could become rather interesting. Tomorrow the game would begin, and he was quite sure that he would enjoy this little chess match. Already the pieces were upon the board, he just had to move them to his liking. Shifting the bow from one hand to the other, long fingers curled around both it and the neck of the violin, and he scratched the side of his hip thoughtfully. "For some one who detests others being in his fathers graces, he does not try very hard to do so as well." Lowering his hand he shrugged a shoulder and turned his head to glance over toward her briefly. It had crossed his mind to have her prepare his evening bath, though she had just finished taking one herself, and it wouldn't make sense if she did nothing but being sweaty again from carrying the heavy buckets. But.. Pausing at his room he nodded down the hallway. "Before you rest, I would have you prepare me some tea. The green one."

She gave an obedient nod, and turned away from him, padding on bare feet to the kitchens. That smile that had crossed his lips after her explanation had chilled her to her core. How could a smile be so..._cruel_? She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts. It was none of her concern what advantage Erik would choose to take of the situation between her two masters. She only hoped that he would not risk his health and his freedom... once again.


	17. Challenges And Training

**Chapter Seventeen**: Challenges and Training

In the kitchens, she prepared his pot of tea, seating herself upon a low stool and plaiting her damp hair into two long braids, until the kettle began to whistle shrilly. As she set the iron kettle upon a tray and took down a delicate cup, she heard the approaching footsteps of another. Lifting her head she watched cautiously as Kito entered the kitchens, still walking with a slight limp. He gave her a disdainful look, his lips curling into a sneer, his eyes roaming over her. He did not linger for long. She couldn't miss the considering look in his gaze as he passed her by and she shuddered, disgusted, after he disappeared. Carrying the tray back to Erik's room, she worried her lip between her teeth until she tasted blood. She remembered Erik questioning her about her duty only minutes ago in the garden. She prayed she remained as lucky as she had been. With Kito, and his childish, bullying behavior, she never knew whether it was a game he played or not. She stepped into Erik's room, after knocking, and served him the tea without speaking, her mind anxious. She gave him a distracted nod goodnight.

"Good night, Anna," he murmured faintly, gathering the small cup in his hand to take in the scent of the greenish tea. Regarding her silently, he tipped his head to the side. Something troubled her, he knew. It wasn't just the lack of speaking; it was in her body language as well. "Tomorrow we shall begin an hour earlier than usual. I have some things to tend to." Tipping the cup to his lips, he drew down a slow sip of tea, careful to keep its warmth from scalding his tongue. She turned and gave another nod, finally looking up at him, meeting his dual-colored gaze. "Yes, sir," she murmured, before giving him a bow. When she neared the screen, she paused, remembering something. With a slight smile, she hurried toward the new desk that he had acquired, a much more expensive and finely crafted one than the original. On the corner sat a copy of _Emma_, a Jane Austen that she had always longed to read. This particular copy was printed in French, and the current novel that she was practicing with in her effort to master the language. So far, she was only able to string together a few brief paragraphs, but she was slowly getting a grasp of Erik's native language.

She lifted the neat, leather-bound book in one hand, gave a brief shrug and smile of apology, then tucked it into the opening of her robe, the cool covers chilling her bare skin. "I think I might read a bit tonight before resting. I'll give this back to you in the morning." With that she crossed her arms over her breasts, effectively hiding the outline of the book under her robe, and scurried out. Once safely in her room, she turned her lamp low, took off the robe, and slipped between the sheets, the book in one hand. Whispering to herself, she read quietly until the words blurred and her mind ached from trying to comprehend the unfamiliar words. The book was safely hidden under her pillow, and she turned her lamp off, and went to sleep, thankful that the storm outside was a gentle one.

Sleep was a rarity for him, but when it came he succumbed to it quickly. Exhaustion and the rumbling of the storm lulled him toward a dreamless slumber, something he was thankful for when the first rays of the sun began to peek over the horizon. It was her knock upon the screen that brought him closer to a wakeful state, that and the scent of tea, which was something he had become reacquainted with over the last few weeks. Tea was a commodity that he hadn't indulged in upon the ship, and something he had dearly missed. Lifting his hand to his face and giving it a rub to ensure that the mask was still on, he yawned slowly and draped his arm over his stomach as he peered up at the ceiling from a half lidded gaze. He knew he had to get up, but he wasn't looking forward to doing so. It wasn't until after another yawn that his groggy voice called out, "Enter."

After hearing his sleep thickened call, Anna slid open the screen and entered his room, surprised to find him still in his bedroll, the covers up to his waist, one arm draped languidly over his waist. She couldn't remember ever seeing him in so relaxed a position. Looking at his at-ease form, she experienced a pang of longing for her own bed. She'd read last night until she could stare no more at the French words, then drifted into a dreamless slumber. The storm that had passed overhead had been a light one, for which she had been grateful. Her exhausted body had needed such a sleep. But the first light of pre-dawn had come too soon, and Ryoko's old cock had crowed even as her own clock within her body had been waking her. Wearily, she'd changed into a gray linen kimono, bound back her hair, and set about her morning chores, while the family lay content in their warm beds. _What I would give for a morning spent in bed!_ But she gave the man who was enjoying such a luxury a polite nod and a faint smile, lowering his tray by his bedside, and pouring him a cup of the fragrant tea, black this time. She handed him the steaming cup. "Good morning, Master. How was your night?"

Breathing in slowly and gathering in the scent of the strong tea, his blue eye squinted closed and the amber one tipped over in her direction, peering at her as he lifted a brow. _Master...?_ "Dreadfully boring. Wasted time by sleeping." Releasing his breath in a sigh he placed his elbow against the ground and eased himself up to a partial lean. Biting his tongue to chase back another yawn he grunted under his breath, then eased up the rest of the way so he could take the cup from her without tilting over. He'd had enough of that during his indulgence in the sake. Blowing over the top to ensure it was cool enough to sip, he raised the rim to his lips and drank down a swallow. The initial burn caused his eyes to squint slightly, though he ignored it quickly enough. Placing the cup upon the tray, he laced his fingers together and raised his arms over his head for a languid stretch. Immediately one elbow cracked, followed by the length of his spine when he gave a felinesque arch. Exhaling a near-groan of comfort, he dropped his arms and adjusted the rumpled robe. "And yours?"

Her eyes traveled the length of his torso as he stretched, admiring the sleek, lithe arch of his spine. _He really is quite graceful..._His question made her realize she was staring at him in a most improper way and she flushed, embarrassed in the extreme. She quickly lowered her eyes, then considered what he had asked. She realized with some surprise that this was the first time she could ever remember someone asking her a question relating to her welfare. It had been ingrained into her to disregard herself when it came to others, especially her masters. There were times when she actually forgot the customs of her old life, forgot that Europeans often made small talk about the weather, and mundane things, such as personal health. How odd. How one could forget so much! "It was a better night than most. Though it did not last as long as I would have liked it to." She rose to her feet, and gave a stretch of her own, her back already aching with lugging in water for the day's baths and cooking. Raising her arms over her head and arching back, she then relaxed and looked back down at him. "Is there anything else you require before you begin your day?"

"A bath. I was denied one the night prior." Not by her, of course. But by that damnable dinner party. Easing the blanket from his legs, he crouched along side the bedroll and pulled the cover up to carefully fold and smooth out. Easing to a stand he brushed his hand down along a sleeve, attempting in vain to get the wrinkles out. Shrugging to himself when it became an impossible task, he approached the elaborately carved dresser and opening up one of the drawers, he selected one of the growing number of kimonos. Rare it was for him to don one of his Persian robes when he roamed around the house. If he wasn't silently flaunting his new creation, he was working on something different, not only kimonos, but yukatas, happi coats and hakamas as well as other articles of clothing. It was an attempt to further accept the culture of this foreign land. Setting the folded cloth aside and collecting a set of slacks as well, he brought the both of them to the table where he settled.

She left him quietly, and returned minutes later with his bath water, and knelt by the basin, filling it. After two more trips and the deposit of his favored oils and soaps by the side of the bath, she gave him a bow, left him, and returned with one more item in her hand, a small bottle of ointment that she had found in her drawer that morning. She had used it when she had been burned once by scalding tea water. Hesitantly, she paused, casting her gaze nervously upon his back, which was turned to her. Perhaps she was making a mistake, bringing up a subject which was surely one of discomfort to him, but she hoped it would be of some help. "I thought you might like this. It dries and soothes areas of irritation, such as burns or sore abrasions. I thought it may help you when your mask rubs sore spots from the heat. I've seen you adjust it during the day and just wondered..." her voice drifted off as he turned toward her. She should not have spoken out of turn. "Forgive me, sir, for being so bold." She set the bottle upon the table, and left quickly.

It was a beautiful day outside. The warmth of the early morning was growing so that soon it would be possible for the doors to be opened to the comfortable breeze. Yet within his room it oddly felt near freezing as his temperament took a swift turn. It wasn't until the screen clicked closed that he glanced down to the bottle she had left behind, then his head turned around as his fingers began to ache. He regarded them impassively, then slowly loosened them from the death grip he had upon the crimson cloth. Shaking out the material, he looked upon it to ensure there were no wrinkles, then proceeded toward the screen shielding the bath. He had only gotten half way there before he turned around to collect the bottle. Allowed his privacy by both an empty room and the heavy slats of unfolded wood, he soaked away the tension that had found every muscle, and just as she had told him, the concoction did, indeed, soothe his skin. The water had turned completely cold by time he left its hold, and replacing the mask, he donned his clothing and began his search for Dakuro. It was time for the game to commence.

Outside, in the stables, yet another argument was raging between father and son. Dakuro Kyomi was holding a list of improvements that needed to be done to the area, namely purchasing some new horseflesh. Noko was a fine, quality stud that had sired many sons and daughters, but he was unrideable and ungovernable, and nasty tempered. He often left the mares with bloody bites upon their backs after coupling with them and they had even had to put down a dam or two due to shattered back legs from too vicious a mating. If the damned horse was not gelded soon, he would ruin even more mares, and it was a risk Dakuro would not take. Noko would never make a good mount. He might have to be disposed of. It was this discussion that he had been having with his son, giving to Kito the duty of finding a new stud, when the boy had flatly refused, claiming he had plans and knew nothing of horseflesh. The rest of the list, various duties that befitted the decision making of an heir, was also disdained. Kito told him that he would handle the estate when he felt the need. With that, the little puppy left, off to find his amusement in his friends' company and between a whore's thighs, no doubt. Dakuro seethed, hissing between his teeth, furious that his son was shirking his duties as the heir. "Should an old man be responsible for everything!" he shouted.

"Of course not." The voice was so close it literally caused Dakuro to flinch and spin around to face the blood-red swathed man who was calmly stroking his fingers along the sleek, gray muzzle of the mare. Spidery fingers splayed slowly, rubbing against the velvet curve of her snout while she nibbled the oats and grains from his other hand. "I startled you. Not my intention. Forgive me. I could not help but be drawn by the voices, and I am afraid I rudely overheard." Raising his chin he side glanced over toward the master of the house with a thin smile. "Trouble with the stallion? You are not planning on ridding yourself of him, are you? He can be tamed."

Dakuro recovered from his surprise and straightened, clearing his throat. The appearance of Erik had startled him, so silent did the damned man move. He regarded the younger man through narrowed eyes as he observed Muran's head sink lower and lower with each stroke of those death-like fingers. The little mare's eyes sank closed and she gave a horsy, feminine sigh, then nuzzled Erik gently. "I've only seen that mare be that affectionate with Anna, who rides her without my permission," he muttered under his breath. "And yes, Noko is a nuisance. He has harmed too many mares and has kicked and bit too many of my stable boys. He's sired well for me, but his time has ended, I believe. He cannot be ridden, therefore he's quite useless." He regarded Erik's mismatched eyes speculatively. "Unless, that is, you think you can handle him. You're welcome to try. Seeing you flung across the yard will no doubt bring great mirth to my wife and me."

"I like a man who is honest." The corner of Erik's mouth twitched into a grin, more amused by the challenge posed to him than the honesty. Brushing his fingers through the coarse hair of the female horse, he smoothed the thick strands down, pointing them toward her snout's tip. Dropping the rest of the oats into her trough, he dusted his hands off and turned around to look upon the subject of their conversation. Noko was definitely a large animal. Larger than the stallion he had ridden back in Persia. The Daroga had said that one was ill tempered, yet he had held the Arabian in command without a bit, bridle or saddle. "I am quite sure that with time, I will not only be able to handle him, but ride him and have him tame enough to breed again." He smiled slowly, his attention drawn toward Dakuro again with a rather devious glint in his mismatched eyes. "And should I be able to, I ask a favor from you in return."

Dakuro regarded the man, who might have just signed his own death wish, with a mixture of amusement, speculation, and admiration. If, and _only_ _if_, Erik could tame Noko, the benefits would be vast, indeed. The stallion was valuable in the extreme, his offspring highly sought after. The cost of having to put such a horse down, then replacing him with a comparable stud, would be an expensive one. He leaned back against the stall's door and crossed his arms over his chest. Raising one graying brow, feeling a bit ingratiated toward this man who was offering to take on a responsibility that should have fallen to his erstwhile son, he questioned, "And what would that be, Erik?

"I have been told that the Japanese are the finest swordsmen that ever lived," he began, setting the foundation, and undoubtedly playing upon the pride of the older man. Tucking his hands behind him, he cupped one within the other and loosely clasped his thin wrist. "I wish to learn the art. You see, I am not a very strong man, as you can undoubtedly fathom..." he shrugged thin shoulders, smiling amiably to him. "I need some method of defense I could employ should the time come. I assure you, I would be a most attentive and determined student."

Dakuro straightened from leaning, his chest swelling several inches beneath his kimono. It had been years, _years,_ since he had taught a young man to fight. Kito had learned quickly, and was one of the quickest, and to his father's immense pride, one of the most vicious and learned swordsman. But he had foregone his lessons long ago, after becoming confident enough to believe he no longer needed them. He only collected swords now, believing it to be an old fashioned, dying out art, an assumption that rankled Dakuro to no end. He studied Erik, aware of how very thin the man was. Yes, swordplay would do him good, make him heavy with muscle, quick and agile. And his aging body needed the exercise as well. "The pleasure would be all mine. A morning spent sparring is good for a man. Would you like to begin tomorrow?"

Quietly Erik considered this, going over the plans that he had formulated. If the training was to take place during the mornings, the builders would have to wait, and would have a hard time seeing once it grew dark. Unlike him, they didn't have eyes that could challenge those of a cat. For now, the building hadn't begun, and would not for another week while he made sure everyone on the team was trustworthy and a hard worker. Perhaps there was no harm in his mornings being occupied with his writing and sword play. "Tomorrow would be perfect, and perhaps ... should you wish to continue training, our sessions could be moved to the late afternoon, or early evenings? I would not like to neglect the projects you have commissioned me for." The anxious whinnying of the stallion drew his attention, and he watched the animal paw at the ground, while eyeing the mare hungrily.

Dakuro gave a curt nod. "Tomorrow it is then. I would suggest you do your toiletry afterwards, though. Swordplay is sweaty work." He gave a brief, slight bow, then turned on his heel, leaving Erik standing in the stables, Noko's lusty whinnies following him out to the gardens. As he left the paddock, Dakuro could hear the stallion kicking the stall, then Muran's flirting, feminine trilling sounds. The mare needed to be bred soon. She was nearing four years of age, and it was time she dropped her first foal. No doubt Anna would be horrified that her favorite horse would be subjected to Noko's carnal urges. It was damned time that the mare be used for more than his servant's forbidden rides. He went to his rooms, and opened the glass case mounted upon the wall. From the dark velvet lining he removed two lustrous, large swords. He smiled as he swung one in a wide arc, the blade singing. He was anticipating tomorrow.

Back in the stable, Erik was regarding the half-wild stallion with a contemplative gaze. It was going to be a challenge, undoubtedly. But he was ready for it. It wouldn't be something done over night, he knew. But he was patient. Between his writing lessons, the building, training and taming, he had his work cut out for him. It was a good thing sleep didn't come often. First, he would have to get the horse used to his scent. That part was easy enough. All he had to do was find one of his old robes to place in the stable. "You are going to be quite a handful. Nevertheless, I look forward to the challenge." Oh, he could imagine Kito's face upon seeing him ride the beast, and that was enough to bring a smile to his lips. The boy shouldn't have touched his violin. Holding a great vengeance, and being a master at manipulation, he knew how to turn Kito's world upside down, effortlessly. Instead of returning to the house, he made his way over to Kaleb's little hut, which was not too far away. They had plans to go over, an activity that would last until late into the evening. Dinner was missed, though by now the members of the household had to be used to his awkward schedule. Sandaled feet scuffed against loose gravel, scattering the tiny pebbles as he drew along the path to the house, his nose buried in an unfurled set of plans. He was glad to note that Kaleb was learning quite well when it came to the awkward measurements and designs Erik tended to present to him. Silence and listening instead of vehemently protesting was a good tactic when working with the eccentric architect.

Diced seasoned steak, steamed rice, and sautéed vegetables in soy and sesame sauces were set before her masters, steam rising from the fragrant, still sizzling food. Anna was given a pleased nod by her mistress, who took the tray from her, and served her husband, her son, and then herself. As the servant girl poured a cup of plum wine for each setting, she noticed, beneath her lashes, the tension at the table tonight. Erik was missing, again, and had not put in an appearance at all during the entirety of the morning, afternoon and evening. Mistress Kyomi appeared perturbed, but her annoyance had been quickly quelled by her husband, who had stated that the architect had much work to do, and if he chose to be absent from a meal, that was his right. That reaction had surprised Anna; Master was unfailingly strict about respect. And his comment apparently dismayed Kito as well. His face clouded over with an ugly anger. He opened his mouth, but his father's fist crashed down hard upon the table, shaking the wine that had just been poured, spilling a bit onto the pristine white table linens. To her amazement, Anna was not punished.

The Master, who seemed to be quite pleased with something this evening, simply shooed her away and told her to find her own dinner. He even gave her a very slight smile. "The meal looks excellent, Anna. You may go." She bowed low to the floor, her forehead touching her clasped hands, and gave him a soft, respectful thanks, then left silently. In the kitchens, she devoured her own brief meal, staring out the window into the darkness beyond, curious as to what would cause such a change in her Master. But along with that curiosity came discomfort. She had not missed the fury in Kito's eyes as they had focused on her. And she knew the reason. It had been many moons since Master had spoken to his own son with the kindness that he had just bestowed upon his lowly, foreign female servant. He had looked...humiliated. She looked down at her food, and set down her chopsticks, her appetite gone.

She knew that a humiliated Kito was a _dangerous_ Kito.


	18. A Lesson In Pain

**Chapter Eighteen**: A Lesson In Pain

The night was much too beautiful to go inside and spend it behind closed doors. Rolling the parchments up, Erik turned around and looked up toward the sky as he stepped backwards along the stones. The moon was full and bright, covered by only small dashes of clouds that cast wide shadows along the ground. Stopping briefly, he slid the scroll into his wide sleeve, then shifted his other hand to tuck it within the pocket of silk. Dragging in a slow breath he closed his eyes, letting the cool air fill his lungs, then exhaling, he shifted his weight faintly, his eyes cracking open again to focus upon the broad surface of the moon. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day. But he was looking forward to it. Sword play was something new, and it was undoubtedly going to be very exciting to participate in.

Anna had been unable to sleep, and the lack of rest had driven her, at length, from the house, into the cool, but pleasant night outside. The Masters were within their rooms, and she had caught the fragrance of Master's pipe as she had snuck past silently. Master Kito had left to spend the night at his mistress', a Geisha that lived in the village, so there was no one to stop her or prevent her from escaping to the outdoors.

Once she was outside, she looked about, casting her eyes over the moonlight drenched night, the landscape pale and gleaming. Blossoms bobbed in the light breeze, their fragrance heady and delicious. For a brief moment, she paused, breathing in deeply, shuddering slightly. She turned once more back to the house, making sure that no one had spotted her out of her room past her enforced bed time, then picking up the skirt of her kimono, she ran as fast she could. Drawing deep breaths into her lungs, so stale from the confining house, she sprinted over the yard and gardens until she reached the stables.

A few moments were spent with her hot face pressed to the soft muzzle of Muran, who wuffled gently to her favorite mistress. Anna kissed the mare's cheek and slipped back out of the barn, moving down the steep hill to the small valley beyond, where the tiny hut sat that Erik's Arabic friend lived in. She avoided the place, knowing that Erik was probably within, and after this morning and her rude behavior of giving him the ointment, she wanted to give him a wide berth. So she circled a grove of trees, and began the walk reluctantly back to the house. She lifted a hand to ensure that her hair was still tightly bound, in case someone did catch a glimpse of her. She was unprepared for the body she collided with.

Quirking a brow, he glanced over his shoulder to the smaller figure standing there. Stepping forward he turned sideways with a slight tilt of his head as he looked upon her. "You are out late." Glancing past her toward the house, he then slid his eyes downward again. "And going in the incorrect direction if you are preparing for your bath." The night call of a bird made him turn his head around, and he gazed into the nearby copse of trees, searching for what sounded like a nightingale.

When he turned his head, she closed her eyes, a hand coming up to her stomach to hold it tightly. The sight of his looming, narrow, dark figure had momentarily terrified her, and bumping into his hard body had nearly knocked the breath from her.

She regained her composure as he turned back to her. Lifting her eyes to his, she gave a bow, and tried to smile at him but couldn't. She felt distinctly uncomfortable, standing there with him, even though she had been alone with him numerous times before. But this morning had left her feeling as if she had overstepped her boundaries as a servant. He did not want a _friend_, he wanted a servant and an assistant for his lessons.

She cleared her throat. "I am not bathing tonight, my lord. I couldn't sleep and decided to take a walk, something I beg you to keep private. I'm not allowed to leave the house at night, unless I am needed." She gave him another bow, then turned away, her much shorter legs carrying her swiftly away from him toward the house.

"Do you honestly believe that they do not know you travel even though you are forbidden?" He tipped his head to the side slightly. "Dakuro does, at least." Beneath the shroud of crimson his shoulders lifted then fell in an uncaring shrug as he watched her retreating back. He took the path at a much slower pace, enjoying the cool feel of the air as it passed through the thin cloth. As he walked, he thought over just how he would spend the final leg of his evening. Pausing at the porch, he turned around and gazed up toward the moon again. He had only been here for two weeks or so, and already he was feeling the need to wander. That particular lust had been set in his veins from an early age.

She hurried away from him, his words carrying to her ears through the night air. She furrowed her brow as she neared the house. If the Master knew that she often snuck away to walk or to ride, then why had he not punished her yet? There had only been two instances in which she had been caught, and both times, she'd been backhanded roughly and sent to her room, locked in with no food or water. The following day after each incident, she had been subjected to non-stop labor, with no food and _only_ water. It had been enough to make her very cautious in the future. But though she feared her Masters, she feared even more losing her mind! She had to escape at times, had to have at least a few fleeting moments of freedom, before the invisible bars of her cage slammed shut once more.

If Master Kyomi had told Erik that she had been escaping, then that meant that punishment would surely follow in the morning. She thought of her parents then, her mama, so sweet-faced and gentle, her papa, handsome and a bit gruff, but loving. Thought of what would have happened if they had never come to this country, if she had been able to grow up in English society and become the wife of good man and bear him children Instead, her parents had died, leaving her a slave to a family that saw her as little more than personal property, where even the basic right of breathing fresh air when she felt the need was denied to her if they so wished it. She was always accepting, always submissive. Rarely did regret fill her. But it did now.

Before she could humiliate herself by breaking down and sobbing in front him, she began running again, feeling her hiccups already beginning. Once she was inside the house, she ran to her room and sobbed in earnest. The book under her pillow was flung across the room. _What was the point!_

It was going to be a long, uneventful night, he could tell already. He desired a bath, though since Anna had gone to bed, he didn't want to disturb her. Instead, he eased down to sit upon the porch and sliding the plans from his sleeve, he placed them off to his side. Placing his hands against the wood behind him, he leaned back and tipped his chin up, taking time to appreciate the vision before and above him. The night was always welcoming. It hid things that didn't wish to be seen, yet revealed such beauty. Was the sun marvelous to look upon? Not without being blinded. He would rather observe the twinkling lights than that bright ball of light.

On her small bed, Anna cried until she was hoarse and her breath came in shuddering hiccups. When the last tears had been dredged from the bottom of her soul, she exhaled sharply and scrubbed at her eyes, damp and burning. A dip of her face into two palms full of cold water from her basin cleared her blurry vision and cooled her heated, flushed face. Finally she removed her kimono and undergarments, and washed with the remaining water in the basin. She would have loved a swim and a bath in the pond, but she didn't want the humiliation of facing him again after the episode in the forest and her flight from him. She dressed in a night shift, and brushed out the length of her hair until it hung straight and without tangles to her waist.

With her toiletry completed, she was not yet sleepy, her mind still too numb from crying to rest. _Emma_ lay discarded and opened upon the floor by the screen, the French visible from where she knelt. _I am ungrateful_, she thought to herself. He certainly did not have to teach her, _shouldn't_ be teaching her. And she so longed to know more and to have the luxury of a couple of stolen hours of reading. There was a saying about cutting off one's nose to spite one's face...She put on a robe, picked the book up, and carried it to the sunroom, where a lamp was lit. She sat upon the floor, stretched out, and read, whispering the words to herself. The house lay silent about her.

It had been his intention to remain there on the porch until the sun came peeking into the sky. But when the clouds split and rain began tumbling down in torrents to the cobbled stones and surrounding land, he was forced to climb to his feet and drag himself into the house, quietly closing the screen behind him. Everyone was sleeping, undoubtedly, and while he wanted a bath he wasn't rude enough to wake Anna from her slumber -- or in this case, her reading, though he was ignorant of that fact. Partially soaked, the blood red cloth clung against his skin, but he ignored it as he collected water to be warmed. Once the water reached a nearly scalding temperature, he took a hold of the bucket handles and effortlessly carried the containers down the hall toward his room. He hadn't done such tasks since he was young, but he had not forgotten how; he balanced his weight carefully to keep from sloshing water over the sides and onto the floor.

Hands convulsively tightened about the book's edges as a sudden deluge hit the roof of the house, pounding away over Anna's head. She set the book down, and slid up to a kneel, her eyes focused on the silvery curtain of rain that hung shimmering outside the window, the night air filled with millions of drops striking the stones in the yard and gardens beyond. Tilting her head, she listened for thunder, but neither heard it, nor saw any flashes of lightning. Her body visibly relaxed, and she looked back down at the book before her knees. She'd been reading for nearly two hours now, and her eyes were growing irritated with the poor light that the lamp gave off. It was late, and her body was aching with the need to sleep.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb anyone within the house, she turned down the lamp, gathered her book and padded to her room, the only sounds her footfalls and the rustle of her robe as she moved. She noticed the unmistakable scent of boiling water from the kitchen and peered in, but saw that the stove was once again off, and the water buckets were nowhere to be found. She worried briefly if Erik would be cross that she had not been there to serve him, but as she saw no sign of him and had heard no call of her name, she sighed, biting her lip, and continued to her room. Raising a hand to her mouth, she stretched her back and neck, covering a throaty yawn. As she walked past Erik's room she heard water splashing into the basin, hesitated, but walked on, remembering the awkwardness of their last conversation.

Finishing off one bucket, he placed it aside then picked up the second one. Slowly he poured the water into the depths of the bath, satisfied that he didn't have to collect anymore. The first trip had been easy enough, as well as the second and third, but by the forth his fingers were beginning to ache from the handles pressing a divot into his skin. Resting the bucket to his left, he pressed to a stand and curled his fingers, working the slight stiffness from his hands. He was stronger than Anna, had been through more work -- he was quite sure of this -- and yet his hands were throbbing after that small task. He was becoming _soft_.

Faintly he frowned and shook his head. Perhaps the sword play would bring muscles back into their prime. As he loosened the belt of his kimono, letting it spill to the ground in a ribbon of blood's hue, he shrugged off the cloth and tossed it over to the top of the screen, letting it dangle. He was going to have to taper down his speed for the older man; a fighter for the Khanum's pits, Erik was known for his cat like agility. Humming low beneath his breath, he dipped his hand between his shoulders, scratching the flesh that lay there.

In her own room, Anna took off her robe, then hung the threadbare white cotton garment over a chair. She brushed her hair out, humming softly in the back of her throat as aching muscles were stretched out, burning with the strain of her movements. A particularly tight knot reminded her sharply that she had sat for far too long over the book, her neck held up as she had read. Whimpering, she reached back and rubbed at the sore spot, but to no avail. One could not really work out one's own aches. As a servant, she had grown used to the fact that while she would always be available to help others, there would be none to help her.

She gave up trying to ease the pain, and sank to her knees, placing her hands on the floor in front of her and tucking her head down as far as she could, stretching the back of her neck. When the cramp finally ceased, she rose back to her feet and climbed into bed, turning down the lamp. The rain outside, beating down near her window, was like a wordless lullaby, soothing in its simplicity. She closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. She hummed the Romany tune she'd heard Erik play his first night here, at Ryoko's, until her own voice finally lulled her over the edge into sleep.

Between the heat of the water and the sound of the rain, Erik was lured to slumber faster than he would have thought was possible. He had had a long day. Between his plots and his efforts to get everything ready for building, not a minute had been wasted since he had first left the house. Unfortunately, by the time he had drifted off into a deep slumber, the sun was traveling over the horizon, and someone came to his door with a heavy thumping of a fist against the wooden frame, causing his head to snap up quickly. Effortlessly and quickly the mask had been returned by the time the first word was uttered.

"My father waits for you, _thing_!" a voice called into the room. _Kito_. Had he overslept his training? Groaning beneath his breath, he sat up from the now freezing water and rubbed the back of his neck slowly. "Tell him I am coming," he responded, though in a much more calm tone. _So, he knows of the training now? Good._

Kito stormed back down the hall, out toward the gardens, his footsteps ringing loudly upon the hardwood floor. He had not even bothered with removing his sandals before entering the house to search out that filthy creature. Rage bubbled beneath the surface, barely contained. This morning, when making his way out to the stables to go riding, his father had hailed him, commanding him to go seek out _Erik._ As if his own son was a common servant! Anna had been in the garden at the time, puttering around in the dirt like an animal. Why hadn't he summoned _her_? And he was going to teach the thing to _swordfight!_ It was an ancient, honorable custom for a father to teach his son, as Dakuro had taught Kito. But what was the point in continuing? He was no warrior, not a man who had to work for his meals. Why should he toil everyday to learn more? Another disappointment to his old father! And now he was going to teach that _disgusting corpse_ to fight!

On his way back out to the stables to saddle his horse, he passed Anna bent over the strawberries. With a cry of rage, he kicked her basket as hard as he could, sending it wheeling away, the fruit going everywhere. He heard her sharp cry of indignation and wheeled on her. "_Say it!_" He raised one hand as if to strike her and she shrunk away, her eyes lowering to her fingers sunk in the dirt. Satisfied, he left her, and slammed through the stable doors. Ignoring the nearby frown of his father, he tacked his horse and left in a flurry of dust and pebbles.

By time Erik had gotten dried and dressed, the boy was gone and out of sight, leaving Anna to pick up the bruised strawberries that were scattered here and there. Beneath his kimono he had donned one of his Persian wrap tunics; one side crossing over the other, it was tied off securely behind him, leaving a small V of flesh exposed at his neck. This was covered with the long black and silver kimono. Adjusting his belt and tugging it taut to ensure that it wouldn't come loose, he exited the house, glancing over the grounds before making his approach to the lone figure standing there, waiting with a duo of swords in hand. "Forgive my tardiness," he began as he drew close enough for his soft voice to be heard. "I was more exhausted than I had believed."

Dakuro gave a firm nod, a stern frown on his face, but not because of his newest pupil's tardiness. His son's behavior was growing worse by the day, ever since Erik had come to live under their roof as his architect. Though he himself was a hard man and very fixed in his position as the Master of his home, if Kito had struck the girl for no reason, he would have felt his father's fists. Not because of any respect toward the servant – she was nothing to him – but because of the fact that one does not strike another if unprovoked. His son needed a harsh lesson in discipline, apparently.

Removing his thoughts from Kito, he focused on the much taller man that stood before him, dark and forbidding even on this clear, bright morning. He passed a sword to the young man, holding the hilt out, the smooth wooden 'blade' balanced in his palm. "Make certain you are not late again. Come, you have much to learn." They would work into the late morning before resting. First, they needed to warm their muscles. He proceeded to teach Erik several simple parrying techniques.

There was no argument from Erik when the chastisement was given -- he truly had to hold his tongue -- and the sword was taken in hand as they moved toward a cleared area. Remaining near the horses, especially Noko, wouldn't have been a good idea. He might have become riled by the sounds of grunting exertion and clashing wood. Removing the sword from the sheath, he squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun, and looked upon the sword's length. Familiarizing himself with the weight of the weapon, he mirrored the stance the older man had taken, and watching him carefully, he listened to the instructions that were provided.

The parrying was simple enough, warding off the man's blade with his own. He was eager to move on to something new, but forced himself to patience. He was like a sponge, soaking up every single little detail he could, and revealing it with almost effortless grace. At least, until Dakuro decided to stomp down the vanity that was growing in Erik with something that was very difficult. More than once Erik found his knuckles reddened by the flat of the man's sword, and he was glad that the blade was wooden, else he might have found fingers missing. Pride was swiftly consumed by frustration, and with another cracking smack to his hand, the sword clattered to the ground. "Will you _stop that_!" he snarled, rubbing his vibrantly red hand.

With any other pupil, including his own son, that remark would have earned the flat of the sword cracking down upon a shoulder. But Dakuro stepped back, planted his bamboo hewn sword between his wide spread legs, leaned on the hilt and roared with laughter. He was aware that Erik was not in the least bit amused by his reaction, but the frustrated outrage in the younger man's voice and eyes, more emotion than he'd ever seen the architect show, was simply too much.

After having several good _guffaws_, he wiped at his eyes and leveled a serious glance on the mismatched eyes behind the black silk mask. "You do not like that, eh? Then you will learn to be quick enough to avoid it and perhaps deal these old knuckles of mine some blows of their own. Do no expect this to be a task mastered easily, Erik. Now, either you pick that sword back up and continue, or you turn tail. Which will it be?"

Vivid blue and gold narrowed into slits and he scowled sharply. "Do be glad that these swords are wooden, or that tongue would have been cut from your head." Never mind the fact that he would have lost a limb here and there. Instead, there were red lines that were forming into bruises where he had been struck. Him, turn tail? If only he knew just who he was talking to, he doubted the man would have agreed to teach him. Dakuro seemed an honorable man, and having one that had been a bloodthirsty monster within his household wouldn't have been welcomed, Erik wagered. Shaking out his hand he grunted beneath his breath and took up the sword again.

The architect had one successful thing going for him; once Dakuro got past his defense in one area, he never struck him there again, save for his knuckles. Erik was having a hard time trying to figure out how to protect his hands from the strike of the sword. He switched hands then, which brought a lift of brow from the older man. With Erik at the ready, Dakuro drew him again into the riposte; the art of attacking right after a parry. As the lesson went on, time passed, and the Master's energy level fell. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and Erik held the vigor of many men his age. The sheathing of his sword brought Erik's own into the hold of wood and leather, and the both of them drew closer to the stables to rest.

After salvaging what strawberries she could from the mess that Kito had made of her basket, Anna had taken the fruit inside to be washed and dried, then set out in a bowl for the afternoon meal. In the kitchens, her hands idly chopped zucchini into long spears, then diced the spears into cubes. She had watched, entranced, as Masters Kyomi and Erik had crossed swords in the yard. Sunlight gleamed off the smooth wooden blades, blinding her every once in a while, the sharp strikes ringing through the air, their soft grunts audible even from where she stood. Only when she realized she was chopping air did she look down to see that she had finished her task. Blushing, she drew her eyes away from the two men, only one of which she had actually been staring at in rapt attention. Her own knuckles were throbbing just thinking about the dull cracks each blow had made to Erik's hands.

As she set the zucchini aside to be grilled later, she thought about Kito's anger that morning, and knew that it surely had to do with his father teaching the architect swordplay. This morning he had nearly backhanded her in the garden, in front of his father. It seemed that each day that Erik lived beneath the Kyomi's roof, the more violent and cruel Kito became. There was a game being played on some level between the two, and while it was none of her concern, it did not slip her notice that everyday, Kito grew more violent toward her own person. There seemed to be a new threat in the air and she did not know what to make of it. Kito made no secret of the fact that he wished to harm Erik but was stayed by his father's need for the man. Instead, he seemed to turn that hatred toward her. _I long for the day he would marry one of those lovely little daughters and be away from... _

"Anna," Erik beckoned. "Water."

Her name being called in that compelling voice shook her from her dark thoughts, and she stopped her tasks, hurrying for the ladle and the bucket of cold water that she always brought the Master when he trained. She donned her sandals and crossed to the two worn men, bucket in hand, her eyes automatically straying to Erik's violently red hand. Setting down the bucket, she offered the full ladle to the two men.


	19. A Burning Slight

**Chapter Nineteen:** A Burning Slight

Temperature rarely bothered him, but after several hours of sword play, and working muscles that hadn't been tended to for some time, he had to loosen the kimono, letting the silk drape along his shoulders and over the tunic that lay below. Both made of silk, they clung to his sweat laced skin. Curling and uncurling his right hand, he frowned lightly as he looked over the knuckles, red and throbbing. He knew they would be bruised come morning. His pale skin did little when it came to hiding such marks.

Glancing up when Anna approached, he gestured for her to serve Dakuro first, since he was the master of the house. To his chagrin, Dakuro motioned back toward Erik, since he was the guest. Fleeting was the twitch that came to the corner of his mouth, and lifting his left hand, since it wasn't aching as much as the other, he eased the ladle from her and tipped it to his lips to drink down the water slowly. After another ladle full the rest was left for his new instructor. "I am an adequate enough student to continue, Teacher?"

Dakuro took the ladle from Anna's hands and sipped the water, keeping his eyes on his student, his pleased smile at Erik's respect with the title kept hidden by the metal bowl. He returned the ladle to the girl's small hands and gave her an order to come to his room after drawing him a bath to work his muscles. With a flick of his wrist he sent her away and refocused on Erik, a mysterious smile coming to his lips.

"Adequate enough. You'll do passably well, with time, with _patience_. Now, I suggest you take care of that hand. Be here tomorrow, _on time_." With that, hiding a satisfied smirk, he took the wooden sword from Erik's hand and left him. Damned if he didn't like the boy.

"I will be here," he mumbled, then raised his voice enough so that the words would follow Dakuro in a humored chase. "And might I suggest softer swords?" Smirking subtly he looked down at his hands. It was a good thing that he knew how to use both, or else he would find his playing hand out of commission for a while. _Patience, _he thought, curling his fingers loosely. The corner of his eye flinched at the aching pain that shot up his wrists and he grimaced. He would learn patience. Wryly he wondered how long that would take.

Alone, he looked upon the sky, quite sure that the sun had been rising when he had exited the house. Now it was descending toward the horizon, the sky steadily darkening. Exhaling slowly, he eased to a stand and started for his room. If he was lucky the water was still in his tub and cold enough to sooth the burning sting of his knuckles. A few minutes of soaking would do him some good.

But Anna, knowing how the Master wished his own bath to be laid out after swordplay had already been in Erik's room, without his permission. She hoped that she would not be punished for the transgression of invading his private space, but she had removed the cold, stagnant water from the bath he had taken last night, and had replaced it with steaming buckets of fresh water, his soaps and oils laid out. A fresh towel also rested by the bath, along with a large bowl of icy water and a cloth, a bottle of ointment beside them for his knuckles.

She surveyed the room quickly, making sure all was as it should be, then hurried out, not wishing to be caught by him in his room. The Master was already in his bath, and awaiting her return to work his sore muscles after so much exertion. She slid Erik's screen shut and hurried off in the direction of the Master's rooms.

He didn't see her leave his room, though he did spot her darting off toward Dakuro's room. Coming into his own he was pleasantly surprised by the sight of the heated water as well as the thoughtfully offered ointment. With the screen closed behind him, he moved over to the screen near the bath and once behind it, stripped out of his clothing and laid them aside. He needed something to put around the stallion, to get him used to his scent, and while the kimono and tunic weren't his old set, it would have to do. The sooner he got that animal broken, the sooner he could probably have a mount of his own. That, and he would gain the trust of Dakuro a lot faster. Why would he need that trust now, though? He was teaching him sword play instead of waiting until the equine was tamed.

His plans were coming along quite well, and seeing Kito's frustration was worth the crack of a blade against his knuckles. Resting comfortably within the heat of the water, he worked the ointment into his knuckles and left his arms outside of the sunken basin. He was sore as well, though he had no intention of calling Anna to him. Instead, he would remain in the surrounding heat until the call of dinner came.

After working the tense muscles of her Master, Anna washed up and hurried to prepare the meal for the evening. She was in the kitchen for more than an hour, rolling cucumber rolls and tuna sashimi balls. The main course, thick slices of lightly marbled steaks, grilled over an open flame in the roasting rack set above the fireplace, was seasoned, then set aside with kabobs of skewered roasted vegetables. The meal was complete and only waited for her to fetch a bottle of plum wine from the cellar.

Kito had returned shortly after she had started dinner and now sat by the large butcher block, his eyes studying her every move. As she wiped away a damp strand of hair clinging to her flushed cheek, she was uncomfortably aware of him, but said nothing. He held a small dagger in one hand, idly drilling it into the wood surface every few moments. He didn't speak, only continued to stab the block.

Finally, when he realized that she was not going to start trembling in fear and stare at him in horror, he rose abruptly from the block, the scrape of the stool's legs startling her. She glanced up at him, and he merely laughed low in his throat, then left the room. She noted with unease that he began whistling as he left. It was the same tune that Erik had been playing the day that Kito had broken the violin.

He was gaining the favor of the father, but what of the mother? That would surely burn the boy, wouldn't it? Then again, women were treated so lowly in this country. Was that just the daughters and servants? Dakuro's wife seemed to have sway and power within the house, enough that the man tolerated her argument when it came to getting rid of Erik. Becoming favorable in her eyes would prove to be much more difficult. They had started on the wrong foot at the beginning.

Broken from his contemplations by Anna's voice, he cracked his eyes open and before sliding the towel from his face, he collected his mask, placing it back on. His body had been scrubbed completely, getting rid of the sweat and dirt that might have been clinging to his skin. He donned a kimono that was in utter contrast to the one he had worn earlier. The dove gray would have seemed almost foreign upon him, if it hadn't been for the black hemming of the sleeves and the equally dark embroidery along the cloth's edge. Bare feet lead him to the room, and silently he lowered to a sit upon his side of the table, on time for once.

The evening meal was served to the family, complete with a selection of tea, plum wine, and the traditional warm sake. There were no guests tonight. Only the four members of the household were present about the table. And to one particular member of the family, it was a surprise that the house's guest had decided to _actually_ seat himself on time.

Nio took the serving platters and bowls from Anna, then dismissed the girl with a wave of her hand, her narrow almond shaped eyes fixed upon her husband's chosen favorite, peering at him through her lashes. He was silent, as he always chose to be, but not unapproachable this evening. What exactly led her to this conclusion, she couldn't be sure, but he did not seem quite so...unattached. Perhaps he was learning respect, after all.

Turning her head, she made the decision to serve their guest first, something she had steadfastly refused to do before. She still didn't care for him or his impudent attitude one bit, but she was curious to see if he would shun the meal, as he was often wont to do.

Just how many days had passed since he last ate? The bowl of soup wasn't very large, and it was enough to sate his hunger for that night. The sight of the raw fish nearly brought a look of distaste across his lips, but he managed to keep his mostly hidden face impassive. Dual colored eyes shifted toward her as she leaned forward to prepare his plate, and he didn't stop her from doing so. The regard wasn't harsh, but casual, almost curious. Any other time she had vehemently protested against serving him. Amiably enough, the corner of his mouth lifted at her gesture, and he gave a light bowing of his head, though said nothing. What he did do was watch Kito from the corner of his eyes.

Nio served Erik his meal, placing fish rolls, rice, vegetable skewers, and steak upon his plate, then passing it to him. At his nod and very slight smile, she returned a nod of her own, then proceeded to serve her husband and lastly her son, who took the plate rather abruptly from her and set it down upon the table with a clatter. For this, he earned a sharp look from both his mother and his father. He fell broodingly silent, stabbing the items upon his plate and devouring them without comment.

A frown drew Nio's brows together. Her son had become more and more insolent over the last weeks. She looked over at her husband, who shook his head. She bowed her head almost imperceptibly, then looked back at Erik. Picking up a fish roll delicately between her chopsticks she gave him a cool smile.

"Do try one, Erik. I can assure you, you will not fine better prepared sashimi anywhere." She placed it in her mouth and raised a brow at him, the look in her eyes very thoughtful.

Somehow he knew she was going to say that, and only faintly did the flicker of distaste settle upon his lips as he watched her eat the raw fish. It wasn't that he didn't know what it tasted like, for he did. Though the last raw herring he had was simply because he wasn't allowed anything else to eat. Half rancid fish wasn't on his list of favorites.

Just seeing her tuck it into her mouth nearly caused his stomach to curdle. He thought, almost, to deny her, though the watchful gaze from the boy caused him to switch that path. Anything to make that annoyance's life miserable. Gathering the chopsticks, he manipulated them easily, taking up one of the rolls with a curious -- not to mention leery -- regard. Rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth he twisted his lips faintly, wryly. Raw fish, of all things.

Anna chose that moment to return to the sunroom, carrying small plates of ginger and wasabi, a horseradish paste that would compliment the cucumber and tuna rolls nicely. With the largeness of the meal that she had just served, there had been no room upon the tray to include the condiments.

She laid a small dish at each diner's elbow, noting that Erik held a tuna roll between his chopsticks. _Doesn't he detest those?_ she thought to herself, but she made no comment, as she was not permitted to speak whilst serving, unless spoken to.

She bowed to the Master and Mistress, then moved out of the room, but not before she heard Kito say, in a very amiable tone of voice: "It is always recommended that one cleanse one's palate first with the green wasabi before one eats the fish." Anna paused and turned toward him, keeping her eyes lowered, recalling, in _excruciating _detail, the meal, many years ago, when he had convinced her of the same thing. She had spent hours retching, her nose cavities feeling as if they were hollowed out with acid, her eyes swelling shut. She'd been ill afterward for the entire night.

She watched, disbelieving as an amused look passed between her Masters. Kito was smiling widely at Erik, his wide face stretched in an amiable expression. Forgetting her place, she said in a low murmur: "Do not do so, Master Erik. You will be grievously ill." She did not miss the clenching of Kito's fists, nor the baring of his teeth at her. She left as quickly and quietly as she could, knowing Kito would take the loss of Erik's humiliation out of her hide later. She felt quite triumphant, though. She went into the kitchens with a slight smile on her face.

"Funny," Erik began, turning his head slowly to fix Kito with his eyes. A slow smile passed over his lips. "Out of all the times I have come here to eat, I have not seen you do so. Though, if you wholly insist..." Trailing off, he tucked the roll aside and scooped up the chunk of wasabi and looked it over slowly. Did Kito truly think he was ignorant about this substance? His curiosity was a damnable thing, and he had tasted it without knowledge of its strength. Finding his nose cleared and eyes tearing up, he then sought to get past the effects as much as he could, only to become practically immune to its effects.

With one smooth movement -- and particularly swift in a slight of hand -- he tucked the sticks in his mouth, far back to drop the chunk upon the very rear of his tongue. Before it had a chance to actually settle, it was swallowed and he picked up the roll again to take a bite of it. The bread would soak up most of the lingering traces of wasabi. There was a burn, though he didn't let the discomfort come to his face. Only a tilting of his head as he glanced back toward Kito. "Oh, excuse me. I was supposed to cleanse the palate, not the chopsticks. Silly me, I was not paying attention."

The silence in the room was near deafening as Kito's face turned a deep shade of red. He gritted his teeth and looked down at his own plate, his appetite gone. He was very much aware of the sniggers that began to emanate from his mother and father, and of the look in the creature's eyes as it regarded him. He had been humiliated! First Anna had given away his jolly little trick, that little bitch, then Erik had mocked him by calling his bluff, making him out to be a fool.

The chuckles grew, the lot of them obviously _so_ entertained by that _thing's_ little display of impudence. With a clatter, he slammed down his glass, tossed the chopsticks, and nearly kicked the entire table off of its legs as he stood. The open bottle of plum wine fell to the table with a _thunk_, splashing wine all over the dishes and onto some of the laps of the diners, but Kito didn't give a damn. _Let them eat their ruined food! _He slammed out of the room, the screen nearly ripped out of its frame.

In the kitchens he found Anna, dicing strawberries for the after dinner treat, and he spun her to him, backhanding her hard enough to send blood spraying from her mouth, then picked up a nearby bottle of wine and threw it against a wall, shattering it and most likely ruining the rice paper. Cursing Erik, and his parents, he left the house in a blind rage. He knew some chums who would take him in for a while. He wouldn't be returning here, not until his father scraped together enough intelligence to see that his _son_ was not to be mocked and scorned in his own home!

The second slamming of a door had Erik glance up from his dabbing as he worked on getting rid of the wine from his clothing. Perfect time for him to wear off-white. Now these stains would be impossible to get out, unless he could find bleach. He had already begun cleaning up the mess at his portion of the table, more out of habit than from trying to be polite.

"Perhaps I should have fallen to his ploy?" he questioned, glancing to the two shocked parents of the angered boy. Shocked, and by the white knuckled fists of Dakuro, enraged. "Forgive me, I simply do not take kindly to having one think I am a fool." Gathering his clean cloth, the only clean one, he offered it to the woman of the house, since it appeared as if the wine had gotten more on her than her husband. "I shall have this cleaned for you." He glanced over the table and the partially ruined dinner. At least he didn't have to eat raw fish. This time.

In the kitchens, Anna sat upon the floor, where Kito had left her, one hand pressed to her mouth. Blood was seeping between her fingers. The blow to her mouth had caused her teeth to tear into her inner cheek and slice open her lower lip. She stood slowly, dizzy, nauseous from the pain and the stars that she had seen when he had struck her. She made it to the deep basin set into a counter and spit up a thick clot of blood and mucous, sickened by the sight of it.

A cold compress was quickly made of a towel and some icy water and she held it to her throbbing cheek and the damaged corner of her mouth. Tears were blurring her vision, but she braced herself over the basin and blinked them back until she could see again.

Pain and anger battled for dominance under her skin, and the latter won. She spun around and surveyed the wine splattered wall, surely ruined. "That stupid bastard!" she muttered fiercely to herself. If only she was not a servant! If only she could be his equal and thrash him as soundly as he deserved! _If only I could tear his manho... _

She took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing such thoughts aside and lifted the cool pad away, staring dispassionately at the blood soaking the towel. She could already feel a terrible bruise forming. Pressing the cloth back to her mouth, she gathered another towel and knelt by the mess, carefully picking up the shattered bottle pieces, careful to not cut her fingers.

Gathering the plates, he pressed to a stand and glanced over his clothing with a faint sigh. Ending the sound with a shrugging of his shoulders, he stepped toward the door, and balancing the plates carefully, he opened up the door and stepped through, only to close it with a nudge of his heel. Making his way down the hall, a slow Cheshire smile crossed over his lips.

He had riled the boy well and good, just what he was looking for. Anger would be his weakness, anger that blinded and let him make foolish moves. With him making a fool of himself before his parents, he not only made Erik look better in his father's eyes, but perhaps planted a seed with his mother as well.

"Anna. That little fool lef-..." he paused abruptly as he stepped into the kitchen, noticing her picking up pieces of the bottle, as well as noticing the stain upon the wall. He had been in here. That smile that had been upon his lips faded and he lifted a brow beneath the mask.

She turned at the sound of his voice, placing another large shard of glass into the towel by her knees. She looked up at him, the bloody cloth still held to her mouth, more than a little embarrassed for him to see her in such a state. Her eyes wandered down to his hands where he held plates and several soaked cloths. She couldn't keep the corner of her mouth from lifting, knowing that Kito had made a scene in the dining area as well.

The movement caused the torn lip to crack even more and she winced, pressing the cloth tighter once again, then removing it completely, laying the now deep red towel aside. She stood to her feet, the last of the bottle shards now in the towel, and picked the whole mess up, carrying it to a refuse container and dumping the glass inside. The towel was tossed upon the counter and she came to him, to take the plates and ruined cloths from his hands, keeping her eyes lowered.

"I see he has caused more damage than I thought." She said quietly, her words slurred by the torn flesh of her mouth. "He has made a very great fool of himself this evening."

_And a very dangerous enemy._ All the good nature that had been within him had completely drained away, and his lips settled in a thin line. When she had taken the dishes, he lifted a hand, taking a loose hold of her jaw, carefully of the reddening portion of her skin. "He struck you," he stated plainly, his eyes shifting from her swelling lip to her own gaze. Moving his hand from her skin he dropped it off to his side, curling his fingers loosely.

It figured. He could not take his anger out upon Erik, and so he chose someone else he knew he could overpower and harm. Though did he think that he could irritate or anger him by hitting the servant girl? If he did think that, then he was _right_. "Yes, he has made a great fool of himself, and I am afraid there is no cure for the infection of stupidity that he has."

Her eyes met his briefly as he loosely cupped her jaw, then lowered once more as he released her. She turned away from him, the discarded dinnerware in her hands. She was battling her anger, her utter frustration at being in such a helpless position. She was unable to defend herself against Kito, in regards to her strength, her size, _and_ her role. How lowering it all was! She would have loved nothing more than to have struck him back, if she'd had the power to do so within her. But she didn't. And calm, defeated acceptance was her only option.

She slowly let the fight go out of her as she set the plates in the sink basin, her shoulders sagging with years of weariness. She suddenly felt much older than her twenty-four years. "I daresay you are correct, my lord. And there shall never be a cure...or a remedy to his affliction. He shall always be this way. I must accept it." She turned away from him to spit more blood into the discarded towel.

"Oh no, you see ... there is a cure for every single affliction one can think of." He paused at this realization --his words from earlier knowingly contridicted --and tipped his head. Acool smile passed over his lips. "Save for death. A cure has not been found just yet. Perhaps some day." He gave an idle gesture, then moved further into the kitchen to collect some cloths to assist in cleaning up the sunroom. "He made quite a mess at dinner. I expect they will be summoning you soon. Do ensure that you do not dally."

She was in no condition to work, though seeing the growing bruise upon her face would reveal to Dakuro just how uncontrollable his son was becoming. She was just a servant, almost a slave, but that didn't mean he could beat her when he was frustrated. Brushing past her, he made his way back to the room and set the towels upon the table. He would get to his clothing later, or perhaps simply keep the ruined garb on, for he was to begin training upon the horse that evening.


	20. Taming The Beast

**Chapter Twenty:** Taming The Beast

After spitting as much blood from the torn interior of her mouth as she could, Anna tucked a piece of soaked cotton between her gums and the wound, a suitable compress until she could take the time to disinfect the rip. The bruised and split lip was throbbing horridly and beginning to discolor, but there was a mess in the sunroom that she had to clean. Erik had ordered her not to dally; tending of herself would have to wait.

She hurried into the sunroom, unsurprised to see the table covered with wine soaked cloths and the three occupants of the room mopping at their clothes. As she soaked a cloth in the bucket of water she had brought and began to wipe up the sticky, drying wine, she was very aware of the Master's eyes upon her. He made a sound of disdain and reached out, snagging her wrist.

"I take it that bruise is from my son?" She did not speak, but only nodded. He released her with a fierce scowl and motioned for her to continue.

After the table was clean and dry, the Mistress ordered her to draw a bath for herself and the Master and to take the stained kimonos once they had changed, and wash them. No more mention was made of Kito, but she didn't have to be reminded of his absence. Erik's words about there being a 'cure to every single frustration' replayed like a loop in her head. She had a feeling that Kito had once again bought himself trouble by making a mess out of Erik's clothing. With a bow, she left the room, and hurried to boil water for the baths.

Most of the cloths were soaked through with the spilled wine, and recorking the bottle, Erik placed it aside, ensuring that it wouldn't end up toppling over again. Giving a half bow to the couple, he stepped back and away from the room to wander to his own. It was about time for them to retire to their baths, then their beds. He would go out to the horse then, to begin with the taming process. It wouldn't be easy, but he always looked forward to a challenge.

Shutting the screen behind him and replacing the long kimono with a tunic, he collected a small pouch to tie to his belt. Giving the pouch a tug, to make sure that it was on there securely, he approached his dresser and opened the top drawer. Absently he smoothed his fingers over the dormant, braided length of catgut, then removed it, tying the lasso at his hip, in case he might need it during the training process. Readied, he made his way out toward the stables.

The kitchens lay silent and dark, the dishes cleaned and put away, the counters wiped down, all traces of the wine and blood gone. The sunroom also looked as if nothing had occurred beyond an ordinary meal. The masters were in their beds, fresh from their baths, and sleeping soundly.

Anna moved about the dark house, extinguishing any unneeded lamps. At the entrance to the gardens, she paused and raised her arms over her head. She tilted her neck back and stretched, arching her spine, rising onto her toes. She winced as her muscles rebelled against the motion, then she relaxed back onto the balls of her feet. It had been an endless day, made even worse by the scene tonight. She was tired, aching, sweaty, and her mouth pounded. She could feel the chemise beneath her kimono clinging to her form like a second skin. Looking about, she untied her sash and opened her kimono, knowing everyone was abed.

After letting the night air cool her heated flesh, she tied the garment back over her body, then stepped outside, her arms laced over her waist. Finding her way in the dark, she walked to the pond, and knelt by its side, washing her mouth out with the clean, cold water. It stung for a moment, then became a comforting cool sensation. Splashing her face, she rose and looked toward the stables, hearing noises from there. Her eyes widened, shocked as she watched a tall, narrow shadow moving about, the silhouette of a massive horse near him. She kept her mouth shut, knowing how skittish Noko was, and sat herself by the pond to watch what madness Erik had gotten himself into.

The damnable beast was trying his hardest to get that pouch away from Erik, which proved that the animal was quite intelligent. More than once he had let the horse see just where he fetched the cubes of sugar, and now that he knew where they were, he wanted all of them.

With the lasso around the beast's neck and a long stalk of bamboo in the architect's other hand, Erik worked to control the animal as he trotted around in a circle, nostrils flared, ears pricked forward and his teeth gnashing. A snap toward Erik was rewarded with the sharp smack of the bamboo over the horse's flank, and irritably he reared up, kicking his forelegs in the night air.

Giving the rope more slack for the bucking, Erik moved back, out of the way of the hooves as they came crashing down. "I do hope you know that my will is much stronger than your own, Noko," he stated calmly, as if he was speaking with another person. "You see, I can keep this up as long as time permits. You are just an animal, easily conditioned." With his tail arched high and neck equally aloft, the horse trotted again around Erik, who kept the rope loose in his hand, and constantly ensured he was facing the enraged steed.

Anna watched in disbelief as Erik consistently avoided the flailing hooves and gnashing teeth of the stallion, moving like a cat about the horse, darting gracefully, a long staff of bamboo in one hand, an odd, thin lasso in the other, looped about Noko's neck. From her perch upon the bench, she could hear his voice, calm, cool, and soft, just as he always spoke to others.

The two moved about in a circle, one prancing irritably, the other revolving, bonelessly. As she so often did, as she had this morning, she got caught up in watching him. Time seemed to still, the only sounds about her the crickets in the grass and the sounds of the two males trying to dominate one another. Pulling up her knees, she wrapped her arms about her legs, resting her chin upon the joints. While she worried that any minute the stallion would land a deadly blow to Erik's head, she also _knew_ that the man clothed in garments as dark as the night around him would never let his guard down long enough for that to happen.

He was perfectly coordinated, no movement wasted or unnecessary, each shift of his body timed and measured. He was..._hypnotizing_. Her senses returned with a sharp plummet and she blinked, straightened, then chided herself for such foolish thoughts and wasted feelings. Reluctantly, she stood to her feet and made her way slowly to the house, pausing every few steps and looking back, the night breeze whipping loose strands of her hair about her face. A smile crossed her lips as she realized that Kito was positively put to shame by this man.

"Ah, you are coming to understand now." The angered trotting had ceased, but the horse still slowly walked around this interloper, his ears turned forward and neck arched. Dark, black eyes rested upon Erik, who appeared utterly calm beneath the regard.

The pole was tucked into his belt, and with his now freed hand he dug into the pouch, fetching a trio of cubes, which were held out toward the animal. Lightly he gave a pull upon the lasso, just a brief tug, to get him moving. Clicking his tongue softly, he shook the cubes in his palms, luring the beast close.

"Come now, I will not harm you, so long as you do not harm me. We can become good friends, you and I." Soft and caressing were the words, enthralling in their own manner. Did that heavenly tone work on animals as well? By the half lidding of the recalcitrant beast's eyes and his very slow, reluctant approach, perhaps it did.

From her view upon the hill leading to the house, Anna watched, amazed, as the horse slowly approached Erik. She had heard him speaking again to Noko, his words a caress on the night air, making her shiver slightly. She thought to walk down and see if the stallion would allow her to touch him, but common sense and a need to not interrupt Erik won, and she turned away, leaving the two figures behind.

In her room, she undressed and washed off, then slipped into a night rail, letting her hair down. She was weary down to her very bones, and the tear within her mouth was now inflamed and tender to the touch of her tongue. She moved toward her tiny mirror hung upon a nail, and looked at herself. The right corner of her lower lip was three times the size that it should have been and the surrounding area was already an ugly purple.

Raising one hand she gently touched the bruise, her sunken, tired eyes meeting her gaze in the mirror. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be in England, even now, a lady, possibly the wife of a tutor or shopkeeper, with a child or two. Wearily she closed her eyes, dispelling the images. Convulsively licking the open wound, she turned down her lamp and crawled into bed. It was a long while before she finally gave in her to aching body and slept.

The interaction with the horse had gone well enough; professional tamers would have gotten the animal tapered down in an hour or so. He was making progress, at least. The steed no longer bucked beneath the light weight of the lasso, and he didn't have to strike his snout with the bamboo, only touch lightly to lead him in one direction or another. With no bites or painful strikes of the hooves, he had lead the horse back to the stable, then removed the lasso before finally making his way to his room.

The night was uneventful. He soaked within the tepid water, tending to his still red and sore knuckles, and after washing he had gotten dressed for his next lesson, preparing until the time came for him to arrive. He wouldn't be late this time, if only because he bypassed Anna's lessons this day to go out to the stables and check upon the horse. With her jaw as swollen as it was, her focus would be more on the pain than her teachings, and he wouldn't have that.

Kyomi Dakuro made his way to the clearing beyond the stables where Erik and he would have their next lesson. His eyes were upon the ground before him, his fists clenched around both sword hilts held in either hand. His mind, however, was not upon the activity he was about to partake in.

Instead, it was focused on the previous night. Hot shame filled him when he reflected back upon Kito's actions. The boy had no honor, so sense of self-respect! He had ruined their dinner, making a fool out of himself, then had gone to the kitchens, bruised and bloodied their servant, and had smashed another bottle of wine. It was not to be borne! The pup had left, tail between his legs, but he would have to return eventually, and when he did...

Dakuro broke off the thoughts as he neared the stables and spotted Erik within, stroking the head of Noko, the stallion bent to his caresses like a contented dog. With a bark of laughter, he called out.

"I see you've made a willing pupil of that beast. Come, it is time I make a willing pupil out of you! The clearing, now!" He tossed a sword at the younger man.

Snatching the wooden sword from the air, he smoothed his hand against the chestnut colored head of the stallion, then dipping his hand down, he sank it into the pouch at his side, digging out the last cubes of sugar. Holding them beneath the muzzle, he waited until they were eaten before he moved off, a final pat given to the long snout in the process. While he seemed tamed at this moment, there was still the difficulty of breaking him to a saddle and then riding, not to mention having him mate without snapping the mares in two. Just how he was going to accomplish that change, he didn't know yet, but he was determined.

Moving out toward the clearing, he curled and uncurled the fingers of his left hand as he settled the sword to his left. He was glad that he didn't have an 'off hand,' or else the right would have been struck a lot more than the other. Dragging in a slow breath, he already scowled, knowing the knuckle busting pain that was to come. He would learn the defense as well as the man's patterns, and he would learn them fast.

As the two men began their swordplay, the older of the two was quite disconcerted to notice that in only one day's time, his pupil was already learning and mimicking patterns that he himself had honed and perfected for years. True, they were simple, elemental, beginner patterns, but some of his most apt students had not caught on to them for weeks into their tutelage.

The young, masked man moved with stealth and agility, and Dakuro found himself exerting himself to some small measure in order to keep up. But with a smirk, he changed tactics, moving effortlessly into a new pattern, a different tactic that Erik had not been exposed to as of yet. The dull flat of the sword found its mark and struck the pale, bony knuckles of the architect's left hand with a resounding crack, much harder than he had let the younger man feel yesterday. "You haven't bested me yet, boy!"

All that swelling accomplishment that he had felt completely washed away when the pain shot up from his hand and through his wrist. With a sharp yelp he dropped the sword, immediately reacting instinctively, shaking his hand in an ill attempt to get rid of the pain. Half turning from the man, his jaw set firmly with a strength that should have shattered his teeth.

Rage flooded quickly, and with harsh breaths he attempted to starve it off before he ended up attacking the man. Closing his eyes he passed breaths through parted lips, inwardly chanting a mantra of a single word. _Calm._ It was only a lesson. Dakuro wasn't out to viciously harm him as he had been harmed so many times before.

Swallowing slowly, he dampened his lips with a passing of tongue's tip, then slid his eyes to his throbbing, blood red knuckles. "You changed tactics," he stated plainly, coolly.

"Yes, as an enemy who is out to harm more than your hand would. Half of the chance of winning a battle of swords is to catch your opponent off guard. If you can make the other feel comfortable with the way you move, then you can surprise him and strike him when he is not ready for it." Dakuro reached out his right hand, his sword hand, and rotated the wrist, relaxing the muscles within. He kept his tone light, his body relaxed as he spoke.

He was aware of the violence that thrummed just below Erik's surface, his effort to control his anger. The younger man would have to learn that in swordplay, anger was one's worst enemy. Dakuro was also aware that he himself would have to toe a fine line in these lessons. He would not give him an easy time of it, but he also would do his best not to push Erik over the edge. He had the suspicion that if pressed too hard, that violence would not be contained.

He glanced down at the left hand of his pupil, which was a violent red and would be throbbing mercilessly. "Do you wish to go on?" He raised a brow.

"I have another hand." Tense shoulders lifted then fell in a light shrug, then curling his hand slowly he hid the wince that the pain threatened to bring. Reaching down with his left hand he gathered the sword and stepped back over to where he had stood. If there was one thing Dakuro was going to learn, it was that his student was relentless, mostly upon his own body. He would continue practicing until he barely had energy left to raise the sword.

And even then he would make the attempt.

"Perhaps tomorrow we shall use the katana swords, and truly spar." Erik tilted his head slightly, then regarded his knuckles with a slow release of breath. That was painful. It was going to be difficult to draw, or play, with that hand for a day or two.

Dakuro kept silent upon the subject of the very sharp, very real swords as they sparred. The morning sun made its zenith then peaked as noon hit. He was drenched with sweat, his muscles trembling. The younger man looked to be in the same condition, but perhaps not as worn, as he had the advantage of youth. But he appeared just as hot and exhausted.

During the sparing he gained several more direct hits to Erik's knuckles, along with earning some of his own as the architect learned more and more of his tactics and patterns. Finally he could spar no longer, and raised a hand, calling an end to the lesson. Re-sheathing his sword, he gave a slight bow to Erik, his chest rising and falling harshly with his breaths. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he glanced toward the pond in the gardens, thinking he might just dive in to alleviate some of the heat.

"Very well, we shall employ the swords on the morrow." He turned his gaze back to the mismatched eyes. "Be aware, however, that you may, most likely will, get cut. Be here at the same time. I am for the pond." He gestured towards the blood-red knuckles. "I suggest you take care of that, Erik. And bathe. You smell like a dead horse." With that he turned away and left his newest student, knowing he smelled no sweeter.

Quirking a brow Erik turned his head, sniffing at himself before grimacing. The man was right, he didn't smell very fresh, though what would one expect when they'd been practicing all day? Dragging in a slow breath, he sheathed his sword and lifted his hand to rake his fingers through the short strands of his hair.

Was he ready for real swords? As he thought this over he rotated his wrist slowly, getting rid of the ache that settled within. Stripped down to only the loose fitting pants and belt, he gathered his kimono and draped it back over his shoulders. He considered going inside and bathing, though if he was going to tend to the horse, there would be no point.

Returning to his room, he placed the sword upon his desk and switched the kimono for a tunic. The catgut lasso taken and tied to his belt, he collected his empty pouch and started off for the kitchen in search of more sugar cubes.

During the night, infection had set into the gash in Anna's mouth. When she'd awaken and felt the swollen lump of flesh in the lining of her cheek, she'd immediately cursed her own stupidity for not cleaning the wound as she should have. But there was the issue of when would she have had time. The Masters had given her no opportunity to do so. The kitchens and dining area had needed cleaning and the linens laundered.

After dressing, she rinsed her mouth with hot water liberally seasoned with sea salt. It had burned her so badly that she'd wept, but at least the pain receded after following the salt with cool water. The wound would seal and close in time. She looked horrendous, however, left cheek bruised an ugly shade of black and blue and her lip still discolored and swollen. She set down the serving plate she'd been gazing into and resumed scrubbing the morning meal dishes. She chewed upon the unharmed side of her lower lip. Kito had never returned; his bed had been made and empty this morning when she'd knocked upon the screen to rouse him. She did not harbor one iota of sentiment for him, but she wondered if he would return or if his father would be made to send for him.

"Kito should be ashamed of himself," she spoke to no one in general. She set another dish in its place. Then her nose wrinkled. She smelled Erik before he even entered the kitchen.

He hadn't expected to see her in the kitchen, though it should have been obvious. If she wasn't scrubbing the floors, tending to someone's bath or bathing herself, she was slaving away in front of the wash basin or the fire.

Opening up the cabinet where he had found the clumped sugar, he lifted the jar from the shelf and placed it upon the counter, easing the cork free. "Your mouth, you placed something cold upon it to take down the swelling?" He glanced over to her briefly, then drew his eyes to the jar as he began plucking out the cubes to drop into his pouch. Sugar cane would have been just as useful, though he had ran out of that the night prior.

Sinking her hands once more into the warm, sudsy water, she spared him a glance as he filled his pouch with sugar cubes. He was clothed in a tunic that clearly gave evidence to the fact that he was sweating. There were spots already turning dark with his exertions. She had heard the clash of swords outside the window, including numerous cracks that only meant one thing. Her eyes flicked to his knuckles and she raised a brow, noticing the blood-red flesh stretched over bones. She looked back down to her chore.

"I did so when I was first struck, though I haven't since. I haven't had the time." She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and raised a dripping hand to wipe some loose strands of hair from her face. "I think the gash inside is infected, but I did wash it with salt water to cleanse it. If I find myself without a task, I will try to tend to it." She gave another shrug, running her tongue over the swollen contour of her lower lip.

"Stop fiddling with it," he stated sharply, noticing the movement of her tongue against her lip and the split that was upon its inside. "The more you tongue at it, the slower it will heal." Tugging the strap of the pouch, he replaced the cork into the jar and slid it back to the cabinet. Closing the door slowly, he stepped over to her and cupped his fingers beneath her chin, ignoring the throbbing ache in his knuckles that came with the sudden change in elevation.

Deceptively delicate, thin fingertips and nails lightly pressed into the skin as he turned her head to look upon her mouth. The skin was bruised and swollen, and he swore he could smell the slight infection that was present with each of her exhales. "There is a small brown glass bottle in my desk drawer. Use a bit of cloth, clean cloth, and dab it upon the wound. It will bubble and sting, but it will assist the healing process." He was a firm believer in 'an eye for an eye' and she had helped him with his knuckles the other night.

It was only right that he offered the same.


	21. Rearing Tempers

**Chapter Twenty-One:** Rearing Tempers

She gave a tiny nod as he turned her head to look once more at the bruising. She had been startled when he had grasped her chin, so hesitant he was with touching others and being touched himself, but since it was done in an attempt to ascertain how best she could tend her wound, it did not overly surprise her.

But it did make her shift uncomfortably as he offered her the use of his own medications. It was unheard of for a master to assist a servant, even in regards to injuries, even considered uncouth. But the pain that throbbed within her mouth was bad enough that she was willing to rub against the grain of her discipline and take advantage of this rare kindness. She licked the lip once more, then quickly bit her tongue as she remembered his warning. She lowered her eyes. "Thank you, my lord. You are most kind."

"Kind," he stated slowly, as if tasting the word for the first time. Releasing her jaw he shook his head, then stepped away from her to start off toward the stables. Kind…no one had called him that before. Though it was common to call someone that once they had offered assistance, wasn't it? She was only being respectful. Shrugging to himself, he stepped out of the house and to the stable where he immediately began looking for a saddle. It was chancy, to try riding the horse so soon, but he was determined to get the mount broken to at least him. He had to admit that he missed the thrill of horseback riding and was looking forward to it again.

Collecting the blanket, bit, reins and saddle, he carried them over to the stable and turned his attention to Noko. First setting out to rebuild the horses trust, he palmed a small cube, holding it low enough so he could loop the lasso around the horse's neck. There was only a slight start, but then all attention was turned toward the sugar.

Quietly he spoke with the animal, keeping his voice soothing and gentle as he led him from the stable and out to the post where the lasso was tied. Collecting the items again and carrying them over, he draped the blanket over the stallion's back, then proceeded with the saddle. The wily equine held his breath for a long while, as if he knew just what the saddle was going to do, but Erik was patient, and the moment it was exhaled, the belt that pressed against his midsection was swiftly tightened. There was little protest to the weight, but he paid close attention to the animal's body language, especially the pinned back ears just in case there might be more.

Within the warm kitchen, Anna reached up and mopped a bit of sweat from her brow with the loose sleeve of her gray linen kimono. It was an unseasonably warm autumn, the sun beating down upon the earth. Blessedly, a breeze wafted through the open kitchen windows, rustling the trees outside in a quiet, serene melody.

Drying the last dish, she slid it within its cabinet, then clasped her hands together, cracking her aching knuckles from so much work. Pausing, she looked down. Hers were not the hands of a milk and water English miss, as her mother's had been, but slender and red-palmed, her nails round and kept short. There were calluses on them.

Sighing she slid them into the sleeves of her kimono, then looked about the kitchens. The floor gleamed, the counters and cooking surfaces were spotless. In only a few short hours, she would need to start the evening meal, then run baths for the family, and before even that, she would have to air and clean out the unused sunroom at the opposite end of the house, including sweeping and scrubbing the floors.

Another dinner party was to take place tomorrow, but this time for the Master's family; Hokio, the mother of Master Kyomi, a veritable dragon of a woman, and his two aunts, two demanding old biddies who never failed to poke fun at Anna and fawn over Kito as if he was a precious treasure. _The guest rooms..._She nearly groaned, placing a hand to her sore mouth. She would have to disinfect her wound later... Wincing, she ignored the pain and headed to collect fresh linens.

"Whoa," his voice could be heard, carried by the light breeze that passed over the land. He had managed to get the saddle on without flaw, and the bit within the horse's mouth after a sharp nip to his arm, but afterwards came the true problem. Riding. Holding the reins within pale fingers tightly enough to make his knuckles whiter, he kept his legs firmly clasped to the sides of the horse as he walked backwards, tempted to rear, and Erik could sense that. When the horse finally did, he leaned his lithe frame forward, pressing close to his back as he kicked in the air, then took off at a dead run. Through instinct the beast was trying to rid himself of his rider, but Erik wouldn't be removed that easily.

Leading the stallion off toward the clear field instead of to the road, he kept a good hold upon the reins, letting the animal run out his frustration. The fact that Erik was still on his back and not sprawled upon the ground beneath the horse's hooves was enough of a surprise for Nio, who had become curious as to the squealing and whinnies.

She moved out to the gardens, holding a hand over her eyes, and watched. Her brows rose nearly to her hairline as she caught sight of that troublesome stallion racing across the field near the stables, a long, lithe form stretched over his back. Surprised and more than a little awed that the nearly wild Noko was being ridden, she crossed her arms, sliding her hands into her sleeves.

This strange man continued to puzzle her. Was he accomplished at everything? She inwardly scoffed. An architect, a musician, and now a trainer of horses? He seemed _too_ accomplished, in her way of thinking. Men of his age need not concern themselves with such pursuits, her own son certainly didn't. _He doesn't concern himself with anything..._ With a _humpf_, she turned to go back inside the house, but caught sight of her husband, damp, his kimono draped across his shoulders, walking toward her, having just come from a swim in the pond.

"Are you aware that your stud horse is being ridden by your architect?" she called as he came within earshot. Her husband merely raised a brow and gave her a stiff nod, indicating he did not wish to hear her thoughts upon the subject. She nodded deferentially, but inwardly frowned. The task of purchasing a new stallion and handling Noko was to have belonged to Kito. But instead... she gave Erik one last glance upon the horse's back then moved back into the house, ordering Anna to make certain the guest rooms were spotless. She would have to give this some more thought later.

"I can keep this up all night," he called merrily to the horse. "Can you?" Though the beast didn't understand, he gave a sudden hitch to his haunches, jarring Erik sharply, who had predicted the movement and loosened his form enough to take the shock. The prior buck almost knocked him off, but he was akin to a tick; too stubborn to be removed in such conventional ways.

The galloping turned into a mild canter, then a trot, and finally, panting heavily, the horse stood still, frothing at the mouth from his exertions and covered with sweat. Erik gave the stallion time to catch his breath before he thumped his heels into his sides, and obediently he walked forward. The half smile was short lived as he led the tired beast back to the stables where he was rewarded with water, another cube and a good washing.

With the horse dried off and brushed, Erik returned to the house, smelling more like the 'dead horse' Dakuro mentioned before. Even _he _had to breathe through his mouth to keep the scent out of his nose. Sliding open the screen to his room, he stepped inside while shrugging off his tunic, which attempted to stick to the jutting bones and honed muscles of his back.

Crisp, white linens were arranged perfectly upon the guest beds, then folded back into neat, precise corners. A sprig of oleander was placed upon each pillow as Mistress Kyomi demanded for her mother-in-law and her husband's aunts, who would also demand no less than perfection. Anna straightened, then caught sight of a small patch of floor she had missed, its surface dull amongst the other gleaming boards.

With a low, frustrated moan, she grabbed up the oiled cloth, than sank to her knees to rub the varnish in circles upon the spot until it shone as well. Finally she sat back on her heels and looked about her. The rooms were fresh, clean, and aired out in the early evening sun. And she was exhausted. Dinner still remained to be prepared, along with any baths that would need to be drawn.

Weary, she rose to her feet, lifting one hand to knead at tightly drawn muscles along her nape. Tongue flicking along the swollen lip, a convulsive habit she couldn't quite cease, she turned and left the guest room, her cleaning supplies in hand, sliding the screen shut behind her. Once she was in the hall, she straightened, managing to conceal the majority of her pain and weariness.

She nearly sneezed. She could smell Erik even from here. "He smells like a dead horse," she muttered to herself.

With his belt loosened and set aside, the rest of his clothing was stripped free and piled to be collected later. Moving behind the screen he looked into the tub with dismay. Empty, she had been too busy readying for her master's family to get to his tub. Muttering beneath his breath, he walked back to the main part of his room to collect his robe. Hooking his fingers beneath it and bringing the fine silk across his shoulders, he belted it closed then finally lifted his head and his voice in a call: "Anna." Tiredly he settled upon his desk and rubbed his face – or would have if the mask wasn't covering it. It was an unconscious gesture of exhaustion. The practice then the taming of the horse had taken more out of him than he had predicted.

She was getting ready to set the rice for dinner boiling when she heard Erik's soft but resonant call of her name. Her fingers tightened about the wooden spoon she had been gripping, but she let out a deep exhale, wincing as it set up a fierce throb in her mouth. Judging from the foul odor that she had smelled only minutes before, she assumed it was his bath that he would want. There was no need to even go to his rooms.

She turned and located her buckets, just as the Mistress came in to harshly question her about the guest rooms. Anna assured her all was well, weary of orders and those who could do nothing for themselves. Minutes later she stepped into Erik's rooms without knocking, knelt by the tub with her buckets and poured his bath for him. As she poured she licked the wound in her mouth, glancing at him, her nose wrinkling at his horrid smell.

Exchanging one bucket for another, she poured the other, then stood to face him, raising her aching shoulders once more. "Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked. "Besides your oils. Which you _obviously _need..." she muttered.

He slid his gaze over toward her. Though the mutter was soft, his keen ears easily picked up the gentle voice. Her day had been long and tiring, and he could hear it within her voice. "Fetch the oils, then go away." His temper had already been roused once today, he didn't need it to do so again simply because it was reacting to her own attitude.

Picking himself up from the desk, he tiredly strode over to the basin where he stepped behind the screen. His shoulders rolled back, eliciting a soft hiss of pain as he untied the belt, then leaving the robe to dangle loosely around his thin frame he studied his knuckles. The ones upon his left hand were already swollen twice their normal size, and a thin line creased where the blade slightly cut in, marring the skin with beaded blood beneath and upon the surface._ After so many beatings, Erik, one would think that your skin would be thicker,_ he thought dryly.

Feeling irrationally irritated and vexed over the length of the day, along with the pounding infection in her mouth, Anna retrieved the scented oils that Erik favored, and upon second thought, a bowl of cool water and a cloth for his knuckles.

He had also endured a long, tiring day and was as sore in body as she was. He was also irritated with her smart remark made before; his voice had told her as much. But she had not the right nor the privilege to take her frustrations out upon him merely because he had requested a bath. She also still needed to make use of that vial of medicine for her mouth. If he was cross with her, he may not allow her to use it. After all, she had disobeyed him when he had told her to use it right away. Now she would have to inconvenience him by using it when he wished to be left alone.

She brought him the oils and cool water, laying both by the screen, where she could see his tall, thin frame silhouetted. She cleared her throat. "May I make use of your vial for my mouth now, my lord?"

"You should have used it when I told you to," he muttered pointedly, glancing toward the screen and the dark shadow of her knelt form. Tucking his fingers beneath the silk he kneaded against his shoulder, hiding a wince as he did so. He was working muscles he had never thought to use before. Fighting for the Khanum was different; the men were inexperienced, desperate to live and they let that cloud their judgment. Each murder was accomplished in a cool and calculated manner. But this…he had to use tactics, and move in ways that put various muscles to the test.

Another shrug of his shoulders and ebony silk slid along his skin, the contrast vivid. Draping it from the length of his arms, he shook it free then brushed it off of his hip's curve to pool to the ground below. Immediately after, he stepped into the water with an audible groan.

Muttering an agreement with him that she should have indeed done as he had instructed, she stood and crossed to the desk. Inside she found the brown, glass vial. Holding it to the light, she glanced toward the screen catching the silhouetted sight of him slipping the robe free. She quickly averted her curious eyes when his shape was revealed and unstopped the vial, nose wrinkling at the smell. Even the odor burned.

She cast another concerned look at the screen when she heard his groan. She remembered clearly the agonies that Kito went through when he had first begun to learn swordplay. Perhaps she would offer to knead his muscles for him later, if he did not request it of her first. _But first..._

She sprinkled a tiny amount of the liquid upon her fingers, then reached quickly into her mouth, dabbing at the gash inside. The fingers of her other hand nearly dropped the vial as pain seared through the raw, tender flesh. She whimpered, blinking back tears, until the severe stinging abated, leaving her mouth tingling slightly. The horrid, salty taste remained, along with a fizzing, but the throbbing ceased. She sighed with relief.

Her sigh was enough for him to know that she was still in there, and thus he refrained from removing his mask, though it truly needed to be shed. His skin beneath was raw and sweaty, stinging with the salt that laced the abused, distorted skin. Sinking below the water until it surrounded his neck, he drew the sponge from the side and brought it beneath the water, resting it upon the taut and drawn surface of his stomach. Yawning slowly, he turned his head to the side and rested a half lidded gaze upon the screen. Moments later his eyes drew completely closed. It had been a long day, and tomorrow it was going to start again. The next day, the building would begin.

The small vial was replaced in his desk drawer, and hearing no splashes of water, she assumed that he had fallen asleep in his bath. Silently she slipped from the room, sliding the screen shut as quietly as she could so he could find his rest.

The rest of the evening was spent preparing dinner, than serving it. Dishes were cleaned afterward, the kitchens scrubbed and made to gleam, and more baths were drawn. She worked both the Master and Mistress' muscles, than the beds were turned down, and a last pot of tea served.

By late in the night, she was exhausted to the bone, sore and aching, but at least her mouth was no longer throbbing. Permission was gained to bathe in the pond, and she did so, relieved even to feel icy water rinsing away the day's sweat and exhaustion. Once she was scrubbed, her hair washed and rinsed, and her face fresh and red cheeked from the air, she hurried back to the house, the thought of her bed a welcome one. In the house all was quiet, but she noticed, a bit uneasy that Kito's room remained untouched. His father had not sought him out. The implications were numerous. Frowning, she headed for her room and bed.

Dinner had been missed, but no one seemed to notice. Either that, or they just didn't mind. Dakuro knew that Erik had had a very long day, doing things an architect never was meant to do, though Nio's words were taken into consideration about him being too excelled in many different tasks. A true horse trainer would have had Noko partially broken within a day, able to be ridden without evoking a temper from the beast. He was a builder, one who was able to calm the animal enough to ride within that same amount of time; a curious thing the two had agreed.

His nap didn't last very long. The cold water stirred him awake. Once he was out of the tub and dressed, he entertained himself for the rest of the night, shadow practicing with the sword. Attempts at meditation came next. It was something Dakuro had spoken to him of, to help him ignore distractions and to assist in perfecting his swordsmanship. His mind was far too active though, and he quickly gave into the need to begin physically practicing again. He would be ready for the morning, but ready for the real swords? He still wasn't too sure of that quite yet.


	22. Bokken, Buildings, and Biddies

**Chapter Twenty-Two:** Bokken, Buildings, and Biddies

The first rays of dawn found Dakuro waiting in the clearing by the stables for Erik, his eyes roaming the horizon. He'd awoken early, located Anna in the gardens picking fruit for the morning meal and ordered some strong tea. It was necessary to meet earlier this morning, as the building was to begin and he did not wish Erik to be late.

These houses that he had had commissioned were the cornerstone of his investments for the next handful of years. If this venture was successful and Erik fulfilled all expectations, Dakuro would be one, if the not _the_, most powerful of his peers. The Japanese military was requesting patronage and he who would fund such a cause would earn respect, power, and a good deal of sway with the government. It was what he had been raised to do, to govern, what Kito's calling was, if the boy ever had the sense to take his place… But he pushed aside thoughts of his errant son and instead focused on the task at hand.

He had brought with him the harmless – for the most part – wooden blades that he and the architect had been sparring with and the katana, honed to a fine, razor edge. He would leave it up to his student which he chose to use. Perhaps if he caught a glimpse of the deadly blade he would not want to risk his knuckles, _his hands_, quite yet.

The morning found him aching. Between the extensive meditation and returning to the stables to have Noko become more used to him, there were muscles that had been sore that he wasn't even aware existed until he started off to the meeting spot. Kneading his fingers against the back of his neck and wincing softly each time he positioned his hand the wrong way, sending a throbbing ache through his fingers, he turned the corner, not too surprised to see the older man ready. Shifting his grip upon the wooden sword, he let his eyes scan over the ones Dakuro had nearby; his own wooden katana as well as two others settled in elaborately designed sheathes. He approached, lowering his hand causing the loose sleeve to dangle against the thinness of his arm.

Regarding the new swords, he placed his false one down and gathered the lacquered, delicately carved sheath in hand. Pressing his thumb against the tsuba, the blade was released but an inch. He then drew it the rest of the way, enjoying the sound of the singing steel as it caressed in a hush against the inside of the sheath. Squinting as the blade caught the morning sun in a wicked, glinting wink, he admired the craftwork, from tip to tsuka; the elaborately designed handle.

Dakuro watched through narrowed eyes as Erik carefully inspected the sword. It was honed to perfection, and could slice easily through a man's skin with only the barest touch. It was not a sword with which to spar if one was a beginner. Dakuro set the wooden sword aside and picked up his own blade, unsheathing it, the steel singing quietly. He rotated his wrist, this sword a great deal heavier than the previous. He cast a look up at the much taller man.

"If you do not have your guard up at all times, and do not move swift enough, I'm afraid you will earn more than just a severe bruising." He flicked his gaze down to Erik's knuckles which were still discolored. "Do you think you are ready to use the genuine article? I would not call you a coward should you choose to spar a bit longer with the dull blade. Rather, you would be wiser to do so."

"Wiser...?" he questioned slowly, glancing over the blade again. Yes, he was right. It would be wiser to switch back to the dulled blades. He prized his hands – not to mention numerous other parts of his body. Licking thin lips, he nodded and resheathed the blade to rest it aside gently, almost reverently. Picking up the other sword he stepped away with a brush of his finger along the smoothed edge of what should have been a razor sharp blade.

Though it was currently cool, he knew that the weather could change swiftly to better or worse, and so left his kimono's top on for the time being. Switching the sword from his left hand to his right, he readied himself for what was sure to be an extensive bout of training. Dakuro felt energy in his older bones this morning. He'd had a good rest the previous night after a hot bath and an extensive massage from Anna. Dakuro did not feel his age, for once.

He attacked quickly, efficiently, and the training that followed was intense and heavy. He reviewed all that he had taught his pupil so far, lead him into a series of exercises, then began showing new maneuvers, new tactics, including calling the bluff of an opponent.

Erik adjusted as shockingly quick as he had for the last two mornings, although his knuckles were cracked a number of times, but significantly less than before. Dakuro found his own knuckles and body rapped a good deal more, but he grimaced and shoved the pain aside. Even though the younger man made mistakes it was obvious, and even alarming, that this young, strange European could possibly become his finest pupil, even after only three days. He was putting Kito, even military men he'd trained, to shame.

Finally, with the sun rising higher and higher and the building soon to begin, he called a halt to the training in time for Erik and he to ready themselves for the day. He bent over at the waist, panting, his muscles trembling. He gave a nod to signal Erik to leave him, no words needed.

Finding his own breathing heavy, Erik took several moments to gather the normal pace, doubling and propping himself up with the sword's tip set deep in the dirt. Bowing lightly to him after the silent dismissal, he lifted the sword and carried it with him to his room. A bath was in order, and though he might work up another thick sweat, it would do him well to be refreshed before he head out to the construction site. After the night prior, he wasn't in a rush to employ Anna to fill his buckets. Instead he wandered off to the kitchen to be able to do it himself. Why would he need her? He had done a good number of tasks of this nature.

Anna was cloistered away in the sunroom, bent over a kimono the Mistress had given her to repair. The hem, a delicate rope of pale lavender silk had been tread upon by accident, and had torn away from the deeper purple of the garment, leaving threads dangling in its wake.

The windows behind her were open to the gardens beyond, morning light pouring in and warming her bent head, her hair haloed in the rays. Her needle and matching lavender thread worked in and out rhythmically, the mundane, simple movements soothing. Sewing was a form of meditation for her. In her situation when all of her tasks required the use of her body and generally left her exhausted at the end of the day, mending was one chore she always looked forward to.

The house about her was quiet; she had overheard the Master mentioning that building would begin today. In preparation after his training session, she had drawn a bath for the Master, but did not do so for Erik. After the unease of last night and the rather snappish tone she had addressed him with, she did not wish to do anything that might bring her in contact with him unless he sought her out deliberately. As the thought crossed her mind, she heard him in the hallway outside the sunroom, his footsteps carrying him in the direction of the kitchen. She chose to remain quiet. She had annoyed him last night. Raising her eyes to the trees outside, she blinked rapidly, relaxing her eyes from such detailed work, then bent back to her task.

Going back and forth from kitchen to room, waiting for the water to heat and pouring it out had become redundant, but the task was completed without a lick of protest. Its surrounding warmth did well in releasing the tension from his muscles, and though he wanted to take a momentary respite within a nap, he didn't. There was far too much work for him to do today. Within an hour he was up again, dressing within the kimono and hakama he had chosen. The wide cloth belt wrapped about his waist and tied, he was soon off to Kaleb's home with a satchel placed over his shoulder. Numerous parchments were within, weighing it down enough that the strap bit into the bone.

Just as he had requested, Dakuro had found suitable men to work upon the homes, fifty in all instead of the number that Erik had asked for. This was good, because by time an hour passed, nearly a quarter of them were going home, grumbling profanities about the architect. He set down the ground rules swiftly, that he wasn't to be questioned about his decisions, that they were supposed to follow the plans to the 'tee,' when something wasn't understood to ask, and most of all, the Persian was his partner, and their boss when he wasn't around. It was when he was gone that Kaleb gave the last warning, translated by another who knew English.

Never, _ever_, speak of the mask.

Ground foundations were broken, and the skeleton of the flooring had been settled down, covered with layer of cemented and packed mud. Out of all the buildings that had to be done, the floor of more than half of them were complete. Erik was a strict director when it came to timely construction, but fair to give the men breaks when they needed it. When the sky darkened everyone was allowed to go home. Kaleb walked with him most of the way, but he refused to go to the house in the state he held. Sweaty and dirty, he was in need for a bath. Farewells were given, then he made his lone way back to the Kyomi home, looking forward to solitude. After being around so many people, he sorely needed it.

In the kitchens stood Anna, the counters before her stacked with filthy dishes, remnants of the evening meal that the Masters had shared with Hokio Kyomi and her two sisters. Bracing her hands on the wood surface, she bowed her head, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, willing herself to calm. Gradually the tension turning the nape of her neck to stone eased, and she relaxed, shaking out her hands.

This was common. Anna truly should have been used to it by now. But every time Master Kyomi's mother and her two flunky sisters visited, the result was ever the same. She was left humiliated, degraded, and furious. And unable to do a damned thing about it. Mistress Hokio made no secret of her scorn for her son and his wife taking in an outsider, a foreigner, as a servant. While the natives of this country often saw Englishmen as interlopers and inferiors, the Grand Mistress' views and opinions were even narrower.

Tonight had been no exception in the way in which Anna had been treated. When she had not bowed low enough, she'd been forced to come back and start again. When the tea cups had not been set at just the right angle, she'd had to leave the room and enter again, serving the beverages once more. When her address to Mistress Hokio had not been respectful enough, she'd been called an English dog and told that she would have no supper. Not that Anna could eat in this state.

_And they were spending the night!_ It crossed her mind that when the Mistress Hokio would have her first look at her son's new architect, that the old dragon would most likely not be able to keep her opinions to herself. Raising her head, she heard the sound of the diners laughing as they retreated to the gardens for a night of smoking. Sighing, she released the counter, stretched, the started the cleaning of the kitchens.

Pain; it shot through his shoulders, arms and lower back. While he didn't have to work with the others, he did. He wouldn't be one of those men who gave directions and didn't lift his finger. The night was cool, allowing what sweat that was upon his form to dry and bring a slight chill to already frigid skin. A bath was in order, but not severely needed; he managed to keep from smelling like a dead horse this time.

It was the stables that he approached first, taking time to allow Noko to draw in his scent again. He pampered the horse with a good bout of scratching between his ears and down long the length of his muzzle. After a fond pat, he continued on to the house. Sliding the screen open and stepping within, he was immediately assaulted by the scent of food, something that brought his stomach to a twisting of hunger so sharp that he had believed he was going to be sick. Perhaps he wasn't too late for dinner. Then again, it did seem beyond the hour. _Where would she be.. the gardens or the kitchen._ It seemed late enough for her time of relaxation, and so it was toward the back screen that he had traveled, speaking before he even got there just in case she was bathing.

"Anna. Has there been some foo-.."

The conversation that had been flowing amongst the opium smoke subsided as the screen slid open, and Erik appeared, silouohetted in the frame, his words dying on his lips. Nio straightened upon her perch on a stone bench, somewhat perturbed at the intrusion upon their evening. She sat down the pipe that she had been sucking lightly upon and turned a gimlet stare to him. Turning to her husband and ready to give him a signal to dismiss the masked man, her mother-in-law drew an offended breath before she could, her sizeable jaw quivering with outrage at the sight of this foreigner intruding upon _her_ family's gathering.

"The servant isn't here. She is in the kitchens, earning her undeserved place." She raked hard eyes up and down her form, then turned to her son. "You did not tell me you had two in your house. Who is this creature, Dakuro?" At her words, the evening grew silent. Nio raised an eyebrow just slightly, an imperceptible smile upon her face, and waited patiently to see what would come of this.

It had been a valiant effort, tucking his tongue between his teeth in order to keep silent, but it proved to be an impossible task. He was far too tired, too aching, and too hungry to put up with an old bat and her snappish attitude. The subtle, though exhausted, warmth that had been within his voice turned cold in an instant, cutting off Dakuro just as he opened his mouth to speak.

"The _creature_," he hissed. "Can answer just as well as Dakuro." He pried his fingers from the frame of the screen, and tucking his hands into the sleeves of the kimono, his fingers took a tight wrap about his own wrists. Dragging in a slow breath, he exhaled while bringing a smile to his lips that didn't quite reach his bi-colored eyes. He gave a stiff and very faint bow, then settled the cooled gaze upon the older woman, regarding her plainly. _"Do_ forgive me for intruding."

Hokio drew herself up, her large form puffing, her eyes narrowing. She did not speak to the man in the doorway, but instead turned to her son once more.

"I see you seem to have a _trend_, Dakuro, of placing outsiders in your employ. First that little English flea, then this insolent bag of bones." She sniffed disdainfully. "I suppose there is no accounting for taste, but I certainly believed I had raised you with more honor." She stood suddenly, casting a last withering look at the masked intruder, then looked back at her minions. "Come, I wish to sit in the front gardens. These are no longer suitable for our pleasure." She turned on her heel and stalked off. The rest followed. Dakuro turned, giving Erik a strained, apologetic smile, and followed, leaving the architect alone.

His eyes had slowly narrowed at the look she had given him and he followed her with his gaze until he shifted his attention toward Dakuro. The expression on the older man's face brought him pause, and he tilted his head to the side curiously. Apologetic instead of leaping upon the insulting wagon with his mother? This small fact made some of his anger drain away, leaving him confused and puzzled. Surely he should have been lashing at him with words, maybe even firing him for not bowing down to that mad cow.

Beneath the shaped mask his brows furrowed and he turned his head to gaze out over the gardens. Shaking it off, he turned around and strode back into the house, closing the screen behind him before he made his way toward his second searching place; the kitchens. "Anna?", he peered within once he had gotten there, and seeing her a slow breath was exhaled from his nostrils. "Food, is there any left?"

She whirled about, her a damp, clean platter in her hands that she had just scrubbed. Erik stood in the entryway to the kitchens, looking weary and tense. That exhalation of air told her in not so many words that he had been perhaps sorely tested, and the sharp voices of both he and Mistress Hokio moments earlier certainly supported that notion.

She set the platter in its place in the cabinet after giving it a quick rub with a towel. Wiping her hands upon the panels of her kimono, she hesitated, but gave him a soft smile, then moved silently to the stove, where she had kept a plate warming inside on the lowest heat possible. She gestured him toward the small table and stool set in the corner and removed the food she had saved for him, including a bowl of the soup that he seemed to enjoy. The plate was set upon the table, and she swabbed down the now clean counter with another towel.

"What kind of tea would you prefer, sir? Or perhaps something a bit stronger to drown out the voice of that old dragon?" She shouldn't have spoke so disrespectfully, but she believed that if there was anyone who could share her sentiments about the Grand Mistress, it would be Erik. She gave him another smile as she went to heat a pot of water.

"I would much more prefer a gag, though tea will have to suffice. I dare not touch sake again." Just thinking about it made his stomach curdle. He approached the seat she had motioned to, and while he could have returned to his room perhaps a little company wouldn't harm in the least. It would keep him from brooding.

The sweet smell of the poppy seed was still within his nostrils, making him ache for the taste of the pipe between his lips. He would wait, though. It was only to be used when he truly needed released. Refusal to become slave to anything was strong within his veins. Resting to the seat, he used a small trick that Dakuro had taught him to twist and roll up the sleeves. He wasn't too worried about food getting on his clothes – they were probably just as dirty as he felt – but his clothes in the food.

She snorted softly, then covered her mouth, ashamed at herself for behaving in such a way. A small scoop of green tea leaves were set into a pierced sphere made of a delicate metal, then dropped within the boiling pot of water._ A gag_, she mused to herself. How she wished _she _could gag that dreadful woman. Perhaps it was from her that Kito had inherited his horrible and cruel nature. She did fawn on her grandson and had been sorely aggravated when he had not shown for dinner.

Sighing softly, she took out a small, delicate cup and set it upon the counter, then sliced some lemons for his tea. Her eyes focused on her task, she questioned him softly: "I'm curious, if I may be so bold...if you do not have a tolerance for alcohol, then why did you imbibe so very much that night? Perhaps if you had not done so, you could enjoy it." She did not look at him as she asked the question, as she probably would not receive an answer for her impudence in questioning his actions.

The question drew an unwanted image to his mind; moonlight cast upon skin, dotted by rivulets of water that rolled and slivered along gentle curves. His jaw kneaded faintly, and he glanced away from her, finding sudden interest upon the top of the table. "Everyone has a streak of stupidity. Thankfully mine is short."

Shifting his eyes to the plate, he tucked his fingers beneath the edge of it and drug the dish closer to look upon the selection she had chosen. No raw fish, which was a blessing. He needed to eat before he ended up collapsing during the job. Taking up the sticks she had laid off to the side, he scooted closer to the table and began to eat at a slow pace; letting the food last.


	23. Respite

**Chapter Twenty-Three:** Rest and Respite

As he ate, Anna turned away as the pot whistled its completion. Allowing it to steep a moment more, she turned off the heat of the oven, cast a last glance about the kitchen to ensure it was now clean, then poured his tea.

Setting the cup and a dish of wedged lemons at his elbow, she debated. She needed a bath, however with the family moving about the gardens, especially Mistress Hokio, such an indulgence would have to wait until they were safely abed. The Grand Mistress had a particularly nasty habit of disparaging Anna, including her looks, which she called 'homely and ill-formed.' Anna had a feeling she could be a raving beauty and still be found ugly for her differences. As it was she was no beauty, but the thought of bathing within sight of the woman made her shudder.

"I do hope that the Grand Mistress has a 'moment of stupidity' of her own and is forced to bed early. I'd enjoy a bath, but I have no wish to be under her eye and have my every fault pointed out to me." She sat wearily across from him, placing her chin in her hand and closing her eyes. She murmured, "I dread her visits with every fibre of my being." She sighed once more, then dipped her head further, worn to the bone.

"Use my bath, then," he murmured between bites, speaking before his mind even had the chance to catch it. He paused a moment, watching a piece of rice fall from the chopsticks before he returned to eating, as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. In a way, it wasn't. It seemed like the most normal thing to do. If one bathing source was gone, use another. He could wait for his own bath, he had training come morning and before he headed out to the building site he could take one then.

Finishing up the rice, he turned to the soup, and placing the sticks aside he gathered the ladle like spoon. Straightening, he scooped the broth to his lips, drinking it down, then coming to the lingering pieces at the bottom of the spoon, he tucked them into his mouth while thoughtfully staring forward.

Anna flicked her eyes opened and peered at him, her gaze wide with surprise. _Use his bath?_ It was highly improper and unseemly, yet it would be even more so to turn down his offer, which was a very considerate one. It was never done, a master offering the use of their personal chambers, but she was beginning to realize that this unusual man did not conduct his life in accordance to this country's customs. Rather, he rebelled against them.

She straightened upon the stool and looked down at her clasped hands. "If you are certain, sir. I will draw you one directly after, if you'd like. I will not linger." She looked back down, embarrassed, her cheeks flushing. She pushed to a stand, then moved to the kitchen window and listened for the family's voices outside, but did not hear any. "They will remain in the gardens for quite some time." She murmured, then turned back to him. "Shall I go now?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, go. Though hurry. I am tired and I would not wish to wait longer than I must." Lifting his hand he raked his nails against his scalp, brushing his fingertips through the hair that lined the skin. Out of the blue he gave it thought again about shaving completely. It would be cooler when the summer came.

Summer... Just how long was he going to remain here? That all depends on how long it would take for him to finish the buildings. If he took his time he could stay for a while. But did he truly want to? No. There was nothing for him here except more insults and torment. He had begun to wonder if there was any place he could go without being tortured by stares or the harsh words of others.

"Yes, my lord," she bowed to him quickly, not wishing to keep him waiting; he did look so very worn and tense. She turned and gathered her buckets, drawing hot water, as quickly as she was able, and hurried from the kitchens, giving him a soft "thank you" before leaving.

In his rooms, she poured her bath, more than thrilled to have the opportunity to enjoy a hot soak, even if it would be brief. Once the water was poured, she rushed to her rooms and gathered her robe, her apple blossom scented soap, and her hairbrush. Casting a worried glance down the hall to ensure that no family member was about, she rushed back to his rooms.

Her kimono and undergarments were quickly shed, and she slipped into the massive basin with a near moan of bliss. She paused, relaxed, allowing herself a moment of peace, the intense heat soothing aching, tired muscles. But just as quickly, she scooped up her scented soap, and scrubbed furiously. The lathering and rinsing of her hair took longer than she would have liked, but only ten minutes after slipping into the bath, she lifted herself out, and shrugged into her robe.

A contented smile on her face, her body not aching for the first time in many days, she drained the water into her buckets and hurried back to the kitchens. She scurried in, heading to the back garden screen to dispose of the water. "I am finished, my lord," she panted as she sloshed the buckets outside.

"Mmfh.." spilled free, his words muffled before he had a chance to say them. He was going to correct her, but remembering that they were still within the main portion of the house, anyone could over hear her, then who would he be able to speak to when she was severely beaten and unable to talk? They were the only sane people in this house, ones that didn't insult him and expect him to bow down. Then again.. He and Dakuro seemed to be coming along quite well. It was more than just conversation, though. He hated to see her harmed for something so trivial.

With his meal finished, he tipped the cup to his lips, draining down the last dregs of the tea. Placing the small cup asid he pressed to a slow stand, groaning faintly at the ache that had made itself known again. With a fierce scowl across his lips he made his way from the kitchens and toward his room.

Anna cleaned his plate and cup up quickly, putting both back in their correct place, then drew two more buckets of water for Erik's bath. She took a moment to wrap her damp hair into a bun, then followed him into his chambers, surpressing a laugh at the fact that his stark, masculine surroundings now smelled of her feminine soap. She did not speak as she filled his basin, as it seemed he was in a virulent mood, his mouth drawn in a harsh scowl. She wondered what had brought on the dark cloud seeming to hang over his head, but dared not question him again.

She stood quickly, then bent to scoop her discarded hairbrush from the floor and tuck it with the pocket of her robe. Biting her lower lip she raised her eyes to his across the room. "May I do anything else for you, my lord?" She questioned, lifting her lips in a slight smile.

He regarded her quietly, remembering once when she had offered to assist him in the bathing. That.. was a task he could take care of well enough. But what about a massage? Could he tolerate her hands being upon him for longer than a few seconds, as he had before? No.. he knew he couldn't. He'd end up being more tense. All of his life he had known one thing to be common. Touch meant pain. Anything and everyone became destroyed if they touched him or visa versa. His mother, Sasha, Luciana, Giovanni.. the list could go on and on.

Glancing away from her he shook his head then sniffed the air, just noticing the change within his surroundings. At least it was better than decaying equine. Breathing out a sigh he approached the screen while he loosened the belt he had to wrap several times around his waist.

She nodded, and left him quietly, sliding the screen closed behind her, and turned to her own room. But as she was sliding her own screen, she caught sight of someone moving down the darkened hallway toward her.

She drew a deep breath, as the form of Kito materialized. _So he decided to return..._ She cast a yearning glance at her room, but then slid her screen closed once more without entering, knowing that she couldn't give him the cut direct.

She bowed to him as he neared, gave a soft, respectful greeting. He stopped before her, raking his eyes down her, sneered, and shoved past, headed for his own chambers. Once he had passed, she released breath, the air shuddering out of her lungs. His return would ease the mind of his parents, but it had no such affect on her. _It only meant more trouble_. He no doubt was still furious with Erik's string of humiliations...She paused, biting her lip, wondering whether she should warn Erik or not, but decided against it, as he was bathing. Casting a last worried glance at Kito's retreating back, she slipped into her room.

The heat did wonders for his muscles, the screaming ache they had acquired was now down to a dull roar. He knew it would only be worse tomorrow. After practice there was the building, then again the taming of the horse. Something he didn't get to this evening. He had only remained within the water long enough for it to cool down before he had gotten dressed again. It was late, he wagered, perhaps late enough for the house to be asleep. A peaceful walk through the garden called to him, and he responded. With a feline's silence, he made his way toward the sunroom that would open up to the back gardens, and after he checked if Anna was bathing – he didn't wish to sneak up on her again – he stepped across the raised flooring to the steps.

The cool stone against the bottom of his feet didn't bother him in the least as he stepped along the path, listening to the sounds of the crickets and night birds. Closing his eyes he brought a low hum to his throat, and dragging in the scent of the cherry blossoms he followed the cobbled walkway in that direction while letting his mind wander. There was still so much to do over these next few months. The horse was as good as broken, and his training was progressing well. Kito had been gone for a few days now – a good thing in his book – and in the boy's sted he was being treated something like a son. This irony was enough to bring a smile to thin lips.

In his rooms, Kito laid the satchel that he had been living out of while staying with a peer of his. The dirty clothing was discarded, flung into a corner for the girl to clean in the morning. His pipe and several new wrapped poppy seed cakes were also removed and thrown onto the dresser to be used later. But what he was looking for was at the bottom of the pack.

He sat upon his bedmat and removed the vile of pale, clear liquid. Leaning back, he held it up to the light, his lips lifting with satisfaction as he studied the dosage. The liquid within was a secretion from a plant known for its calming properties...in very small doses. In large ones, however, it could paralyze, even kill, if not treated right away.

Chuckling softly, he slipped the vial back into the satchel. He was no fool, and he knew very well that Erik had been responsible for the scorpion bite, and also the bringer of humiliation upon his head. That creature was slowly ingratiating himself with _his _father. How long before he handed over some control of his estate? Before he made Erik a counselor to his peers? It was not to be borne. If he could only get the man out of his father's graces, either by putting him on his back for a while or even removing him completely, he could ursurp his former position in his father's eyes. Smiling to himself, he stood stretching, then changed for bed. He'd let his parents know of his return in the morning.

Perhaps it wasn't too late to tend to the horse. Erik had kept a bit of a promise to himself, and when he did that, he rarely, very rarely, broke it. Yawning slowly more out of relaxation than exhaustion, he made his way over to the stables where he was almost instantly greeted by the mare with a whinny. Chuckling beneath his breath he went over to the young lady and smoothed his fingers over the snout. The stallion wouldn't be bested – either that or he was responding to the mare – and he, too, gave an issuing of his 'greeting.' "Unfortunately, I do not have any sugar for you tonight. I failed to go to the kitchen before I came here. Just as well. It is time for you to listen and obey without treats." Speaking to the horse as if he was a human, he gave the mare one last pat before he approached the saddles to collect one as well as a blanket to drape over the horses back.

He should be resting, letting his body heal for his next practice session, but he often tended to abuse himself. Having a bit of trouble with the saddles weight from the streaming of the heated ache through his arms, he lugged it over, grumbling beneath his breath in the process.

She couldn't sleep. After struggling to rest for nearly an hour to relax her body and her mind and failing, she rose in the dark of the room, and dressed quietly without the aid of any light, slipping into her tunic and loose fitting trousers. Maybe a quiet, slow ride for an hour or two would ease the worries that were flowing through her mind.

Padding on silent feet through the house and out to the gardens, her hands working her hair into a braid down her back, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, concerned about the return of Master Kito. The few days that he had been absent had been ones of peace, even if there was still strain between the household and Erik. But now that he had returned, even in the hour she had spent staring at her ceiling, she had felt the tension return, a barely concealed air of hostility brewing. How long would it be before the next incident?

Smoothing a palm down one cheek, she stepped into the stables, disappearing out of the moonlight into the thick gloom of the building. In the dark of the stables, she heard the quiet shifting of the horses. Smiling she drew near to Muran's stall. Too late, she heard the low grumbling of the man in the stables and stumbled into him in the dark. She gasped and jumped back, one hand gripping the stall door.

The saddle tumbled to the ground in a heap of leather and buckles, snagging his foot beneath which brought a soft yelp to his lips, then a sharp scowl. "Do not _do_ that! You should watch where you are going." Wriggling his toes within the sandal he leaned down to pick it up again, wincing inwardly as the weight yanked along his arms. Lowering the saddle next to Noko's stall, he pulled the blanket off of his shoulder, then collected the bit and reins from the post.

"What are you doing out here so late anyway?" Curiously glancing over his shoulders, he turned back when he felt a velveteen muzzle nudge into his jaw with a hot breath to follow. He grimaced, easing the stallion's head back. Adjusting his hold upon the bit, he carefully entered the stall then proceeded to rub the cold metal against the thick gums, urging the teeth to part. Once they did he shoved the iron back until it rested behind the blunted teeth.

Recovering from her fright, she took a deep breath and brushed past him, procuring her own tack for Muran. She cast a glance back at him over her shoulder, the small shaft of moonlight over Noko's stall illuminating him briefly. He looked strong and distant as always, but he also seemed worn, even after his bath. She frowned slightly but turned away. He should have let her work his muscles, but she shrugged, then lifted the tack and moved back to Muran's stall.

As she gently slid the bit between the mare's teeth and closed the small buckles along the jaw, she explained to him why she was out so late, hoping that he would not send her back to the house. "I often ride when I cannot sleep, or when I am not needed. It's been a long while since I have ridden and I could not seem to fall asleep." She settled the saddle over Muran's back, and reached under the belly of the mare to pull the girth to her. She raised her eyes to him as she tightened the leather.

"Would you prefer me to leave you alone with the stallion?"

"It matters not. Your presence does not bother me." There was no need for him to warn her about her going out riding, she knew that Dakuro wasn't ignorant of her night escapades. Drawing the tether over the perked ears he buckled the harness in place, then picked up the blanket to drape over the horse's back. The saddle was the next to be placed upon the broad back with some measure of struggling. Bringing the padded strap beneath and sliding it into the buckle, he waited until the stallion exhaled before he pulled the belt taut. Pressing the metallic tab into the hole he smoothed the leather down then lead the horse outside of the stall. Noko gnawed firmly against the bit, still trying to get used to the feeling of it.

Muran rubbed the length of her long, gorgeous head up and down Anna's arm as she led her outside. Once they were free of the stables, the quiet, moonlit night waited, the air fresh with cherry blossoms. She turned toward the mare, murmuring quietly into her ear as she mounted.

She settled herself in the saddle, threading the reins comfortably through her hands until she had a relaxed hold upon the head of the mare. Turning about toward the long path leading out to the distant tree-line, the leather and buckles creaking. She cast a glance over at Erik. "I'll leave you now. I don't believe these two will be able to control themselves in each other's company. Muran's in heat."

She gave a nod, then took off, moving from a trot to an easy canter, adjusting her body to the rolling gate of the horse. Behind her, she heard Noko whicker mournfully. As Muran gave an answering piteous whinny, Anna rolled her eyes, then pressed her into a gallop, putting distance between them and the two males left in the stableyard.

"Soon enough, Noko. Then you can whinny and huff at the mare all you desire. Though for now, we have training to do, my friend." Giving a stroking pat to the horse's snout, he lead him to the nearby clearing by a gentle pull upon his reins, and once they were within the small field, he slipped his foot into the stirrup then heft himself up with a swing of his leg over the saddle. There he rested, waiting for the stallion to get used to his weight again before he lead him through the tall grass.

The night was beautiful, quiet and the sky was full of bright stars. It was the latter that had gained his attention, and in his usual silence he watched the deep midnight of the sky as he rode. This was something he decided he would do often, it was relaxing and calming. It wouldn't last very long, though. Not with training in the morning. With only a few minutes to midnight, he didn't have long to get rid of his aches before they would be layered with fresh ones.

The dull rhythm of Muran's hooves upon the earth and the nearly silent rush of wind were the only sounds that accompanied Anna on her ride. The huffing and calling of the stallion had long since faded behind her, leaving a solemn but peaceful, silent night.

Her rides were rare but precious moments to her, even if she was forbidden for indulging in them without permission. It the only freedom to be had within her life. Every other moment of everyday was spent in being accountable to someone else's whims. Even her baths were not her own, but had to be cut short so that she would not be tardy from staying up too late.

Taking a large, deep breath into her lungs, she finally reined Muran into a slow walk, relaxing her hands and leaning them upon the mare's neck as she surveyed the moon washed countryside about her.

It occured to her that in all honesty, she should tell Erik that Master Kito had returned home, before morning came. Perhaps if he knew that the younger man, who had seemed to take an instant, strong dislike to the architect, had come back, a confrontation might be avoided. Her reasons were not purely for Erik's benefit, however, even though she found herself wishing that he might never be sent away, but rather that each time the two men had words, she was always caught in Kito's backlash. And it only got worse each time. Biting her lower lip, she gave the horizon one last glance, then wheeled Muran about, heading back for the stables.

As much as Erik wanted to continue with the riding, each movement of the steed was making his muscles hurt. Reluctant to return, but knowing he had to before he ended up as nothing but a bunch of tense knots, he lead the stallion back the short distance to the stable. Nudging his heels against his sides he sent the horse to a trot until they reached the area in front of his stall. Sliding down from the saddle and turning, he loosened the buckle and let the saddle's strap fall free. So focused upon his task he began humming to pass the time it would take to get the saddle and blanket off, as well as brush down the horse before he finally went inside. Everything he did was meticulous and complete, regardless of his own discomfort.

Dropping the saddle to the ground he grimaced, kneading at the back of his neck slowly, then collected the blanket from the equine's sloped back. Draping it over the stall's door he partly leaned against the nearby post, taking a moment to get rid of the tension that lined the curve of a shoulder.

Leading Muran back into the darkened stable, Anna paused, glancing at Erik leaning against the stall post, looking as if he was in pain. Shaking her head slightly, she led the mare to her stall and removed the tack, stroking her hands over the saddle imprint left on the glossy dark coat as she did so, easing the horse's muscles. Muran's head drooped in her relaxation, making the removal of the bridal easier. Both pieces of tack were carried over to the saddlery, and she put everything away, just as it had been found, careful to change nothing. Fetching a brush, she went back to the mare, now quietly munching on her grain, and began brushing the soft coat in slow, deep motions.

With her face turned away from Erik, Anna spoke out softly in the quiet of the stable: "Kito has returned, Erik. He came home only hours ago." She paused in brushing and glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Joy. Remind me to celebrate later," he muttered sarcastically. Was it possible for a person's hair to hurt? And he didn't even have that much! Rubbing his palm over his scalp and through the short strands, he scratched the skin beneath then dropped his hand. Easing away from the post and approaching the front of the horse, he loosened the bridle and worked the bit free from the clenching jaws. Hanging it upon the post he urged the horse inside and collected the brush to begin stroking down the course hair.

So Kito was finally home. He could only imagine the chaos that was going to take place sooner or later. Especially if he found just how his father and Erik were getting along; quite nicely. Even with that hovering in the air, the calm before the storm, Erik couldn't help but smile to himself.


	24. The Game Continues

**Chapter Twenty-Four:** The Game Continues

At the smile stretched across Erik's mouth, Anna turned away, her own lips drawn down in a worried frown.

Of course he would not wish to avoid confrontation! He would _cultivate_ it, rather! He seemed to deliberately poke and prod at Kito, drawing upon the younger man's seemingly fragile ego.

She brushed the mare's coat until it glistened in the moonlight that was filtering into the narrow stable windows, her mind frantic. Why were men so eager to constantly bat at the other? Why was _everything_ about who was best, who was better, who was stronger, who the more powerful? It utterly baffled her. It did more than that! It _infuriated_ her. In her own life, she was powerless. How many times had she wished to confront and fight those who treated her cruelly, namely Kito. How many times had she wanted to strike him back? But she could not do so! But yet, these two would continue this struggle for power!

And when Kito found himself unable to directly retaliate, he would direct his anger at _her_.

Finishing the chore, she tossed the brush aside and hurried out, wiping her dusty hands off on her front, calling behind her as she went in a frosted voice, "Yes, well some of us will have even less to celebrate than your indifferent person!" She slammed the stall door and disappeared out of the stables, her steps long and angry, carrying her back to the house.

Blankly staring at her retreating back he tilted his head to the side slowly then gave it a shake. He clearly knew what she was speaking of, having seen the evidence before from Kito's abuse, something he was extremely disgruntled about. What was he to do, though? He wasn't going to simply roll over and let Kito kick him and not do anything about it.

Turning his attention to the horse again he returned to the brushing of the magnificent steed. Not too long ago he was stomping and pawing at the stall, now he looked to be as tame as the mare across the way. He had done well, even if he didn't ease the creature as soon as he had desired. Raking his nails within the course fur he leaned his head against the horse's side and closed his eyes.

For a moment it seemed as if he would fall to sleep there, though he was far from doing so. Eventually he finished off the brushing and placed it away. Escaping from the stall he closed the gate with a quiet click, then stroked the long muzzle when the stallion drew close. "Until tomorrow, my friend."

The brisk, angry walk to the house had burned her lungs, and Anna took deep gasps as she entered the kitchens. The moon was still high overhead and outside; dawn was a long way off, but there would be no possible way for her to find rest tonight. She was far too agitated, far too upset, her emotions in turmoil.

She paced back and forth, jerking her hair out of the braid until she could twist it between her hands in a familiar, agitated gesture. She surprised herself by giving vent a low, quiet, frustrated scream between her teeth. Her life had been so uncomplicated, so undramatic before he had come! Yes, Kito had always been belligerent and yes, her workload had always been heavy, but at least she had known what to expect of everyday. She no longer had that luxury, if one could even _call_ it a luxury! Her peace had been disturbed, destroyed by this man who could not stand to be bested by another.

No, perhaps that was not the correct thought. He could not accept _standing down_, relinquishing his pride. It was something she had been doing for fifteen years. She paused, thinking about that ... Yes, she had done it for fifteen years, and it was ingrained in her. Could she really expect Erik to do the same? No, truly she could not.

The wind promptly left her sails, and her shoulders fell. She really had acted quite churlishly. She had forgotten her place. _I need to apologize ..._ Nodding to herself, she turned and walked silently to the garden doors to wait for him But unbeknownst to Anna, someone else was waiting for Erik as well, but not in the gardens. Moving quietly across the grass, Kito approached the stables, circling the building from a longer route, beyond Anna's vision as she leaned n the doorframe.

His hands clasped behind him, affecting a casual stroll, Kyomi Kito entered one darkened entrance of the stables, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He'd seen that skinny bastard come in here earlier from the window in his room, no doubt going to work with the stallion that _he_ was to have replaced with a finer specimen as his father's stud.

As he shifted his gaze to the tall, black shadow in one stall, Kito thought back on what he had learned tonight. After putting away the vile of plant secretion that he meant to use a later date, he'd gone to his father's rooms to announce his return. He'd received only a cold stare and a sharp reprimand for behaving like such a _child._ Then he'd been informed that he was to let his father retire for the night, as he had important lessons with his _pupil_ in the morning that he had no wish to miss because of tardiness. Dismissed! _Dismissed! _From his own father's presence so that he would not be late and rested for practice with _Erik_ in the morning.

Kito had not been able to sleep after that. Then he'd seen Erik going to the stables. Perhaps it was time he had a little talk with their houseguest. Without warning, he called out to the darkness: "Good evening, Erik. Have you missed me?" Kito's mouth stretched in a wide smirk.

"With every bullet thus far," he murmured beneath his breath, lugging the saddle over to where the others hung. Hiding a wince when he had to lift it and hang it up, he brushed his sleeves down, then turned around to make his way toward the stable's door. Curling his fingers around his wrists, a bit disconcerted when he didn't feel the binding of leather and steel there, he met the boy's eyes evenly, his own smile forming upon his lips. One that didn't reach the bi-colored gaze.

"I trust you had a wonderful time away from home. You are more careful where you sleep, hm? Some ladies can have a rather _painful_ bite." He had absolutely no desire to hide the fact that he had put the scorpion within his bed, at least not from Kito. If anything, it was salt to rub into a wound.

Hot anger surged through Kito. His teeth bared in his round, broad face, his large hands clenched in to beefy fists, he nearly stepped forward to throttle the insolent creature, but stopped himself. Instead, he merely forced a smile, and smoothed the front lapels of his dark green kimono, then leaned back into the doorway, crossing his arms.

It was no surprise to hear the words come directly from Erik's mouth, of course. He had _known_ it could be none other _than_ Erik who had placed something in his bed that night. But hearing it gave him a quick, surge of fear, which he smothered under his rage.

"I choose my bed mates with care, Erik. Some _undesirables_ do sneak between my sheets on occasion, but I think you'll find that I am much more ... guarded ... now against such ... ladies." He paused, spreading his hands in an ironic gesture.

"But what am I speaking of! You would have no such knowledge of bed mates, now would you? After all, you'd have to take that mask off to properly bed a woman ..." Leaving him with that thought, inwardly snickering at his low blow, he left his companion, strolling back out into the darkness, contented with his last move.

He wouldn't let him get to him, wouldn't let his temper get the best of him, and even though he had that in mind, it wasn't a possibility to simply shrug off the words. He was physically tired, sore and simply wanted to curl up in a hot tub where he could fall to sleep.

His eyes narrowed slowly upon the man's back – he was seeing a lot of those tonight. "I would have you know," he stated evenly. "That wearing a mask does not impede upon my ability to bed a woman. Though I have to wonder just how you manage without _smothering _your partner."

Snorting faintly he rolled his shoulders back, an ill attempt to get rid of the tension that had suddenly struck through every muscle of his body. Continuing to the door, he finally stepped out to begin his way to the garden and his room, a path that seemed far too long.

Upon hearing the quiet shush of feet through grass, Anna straightened in the door frame and stepped down on the stone flags of the garden walk. Running a hand anxiously through her hair, she watched as Erik approached.

Her brow drew down as she noted the tight, barely controlled way in which he walked. Tension seemed to infuse every inch of his long, slender body as he drew closer. With every step he took, she realized that he would plow her over in his distraction if she did not make her presence known to him soon.

Clearing her throat, she stepped in front of him, raising her eyes to his, as he often requested she do when addressing him.

"Erik, I owe you an apology," she started, finding suddenly that it was indeed easier to look down at the hands twisting through her hair than at him. "I forgot my place and I beg your indulgence in this matter. I only mean to warn you of Master Kito's return, not insult or anger you." She stopped herself from babbling onward and swallowed, knotting the length of hair even tighter about her fingers.

Stopping short, he silently stared at her, letting the words sink in beyond the irritated haze, then shaking his head faintly he grunted beneath his breath. "Worry not." Stepping to the side then passing her, he continued on to the house.

Kito had indeed struck a sore spot, a bare nerve that he couldn't soothe even if he wanted to. It wouldn't go unmet, that was a guarantee. This back and forth battle should have been tiring by now, but it would never become so if one could find a soft spot of the other. The comment of his mask did well to unnerve him.

Staring at the spot where he had stood, Anna nodded softly to herself, biting her lip, than turned slowly and followed him into the house.

His reply had really not relieved her mind at all. He seemed furious with her, only grunting two words to her, apparently all she deserved. Quite baffled at the hurt that surfaced, she turned and watched him as he strode down the hall to his rooms, his body still tense. Vacillating for one moment, she then hurried after him, knowing that it was perhaps not a wise move, but a curious, unexplored part of her wanted to speak with him longer or perhaps even find some mundane chore to do for him, anything to avoid having to face a sleepless night.

Pausing outside his door, only just missing the shutting of the screen, she quietly asked him, "May I assist you in any way? A massage, a bath, or some tea?" Behind her she heard the door open for the front and caught a glimpse of Kito coming down the hall toward his rooms. She bit her lip once more and turned back to Erik, hoping he would have some small duty for her to perform at least.

He had turned slowly, looking beyond her toward the hallway in which she was standing, almost expecting to see Kito immediately, but that wouldn't be the case. Pulling in a slow breath he turned around again and stepped further into the darkened room. Going to his desk and pulling open the thin drawer, he fetched a box of matchsticks, and striking one against the side he approached the lantern to bring a reddish glow into the room with its lighting.

"Come in and sit." Shaking out the match he motioned to the room, allowing her to choose where she wished to rest. He didn't feel like bothering with Kito beyond the stable altercation, and with her roaming the halls, there was bound to be a problem he had to address. He could wait a few more minutes for his bath, then he could finally begin to loosen up.

Relieved beyond description, she stepped cautiously into the room, sliding the screen shut behind her. As he lit the lanterns about the chamber, she decided to take a seat upon the floor, curling her legs up beneath her and studying him hesitantly beneath her lashes. She realized that perhaps her eyes lingered a bit too long, and not wanting to appear vulgar, she looked away, flicking her glance about the room. Her eyes alighted upon a stack of his books, the bindings titled in several different languages, only a French and a Japanese title readable to her.

Tilting her head, she studied the leather bound books, then glanced back up to him. The silence stretched uncomfortably in the room. She longed to ask him about his travels, her insatiable desire for knowledge desperately yearning to know more of him and the worlds he'd lived in. But would he be offended if she questioned him? The easy companionship they'd shared once, when she had been giving him lessons had seemed to disappear with a few tense occasions. He had been her only friend, if she could indeed call it that, for a few short days. She found that she missed that friendship, even if it had been one-sided.

Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "You've been to many countries, haven't you? Will you tell me of some of them? That is, if you wish to."

His eyes remained on the screen for a few moments longer before he finally turned them to her, studying her quietly. "I have ... been to a few, yes." Silencing, he gathered his robe, then shrugging off his kimono, leaving him within the wide hemmed slacks, he pulled the robe over his bony shoulders and belted it around his waist. Releasing the ties to hang low, he settled to a sit behind the short legged desk and smoothed his hands over the surface.

Drawing or playing? He glanced to one side with his violin case, then to the other where his pencils laid. He hated making decisions like this, especially when both were things he enjoyed doing. "I had come from Persia recently. Built for the Shah." Detachedly, he seemed almost too distracted to have the desire to go on.

Moving her trouser clad legs into a cross-legged position, Anna made a curious sound in the back of her throat. _Persia_.

She remembered her geography lessons that her father had given her and recalled that Persia was an Arabic country, which would explain his ability to read the language of some of the books in his vast collection. A wave of longing passed through her, unchecked. How unsatisfying it was to have only known two worlds, and to know that one would never know any more than those two! In her childhood, before that faithful holiday in Japan, she had never even left England! Never even bit to Paris or Italy, as so many of her girlhood friends had.

Looking back down at her hands and twisting the hems of her trousers through her fingers, she raised her voice in question again, hoping she would not annoy him. "What was Persia like? Did you enjoy your time spent there?"

_The cloak and dagger, the murders, the blood thirsty Khanum? Of course I did, _it almost took him off guard with how venomous that tone was, and shaking his head he glanced over toward her. "Persia was interesting, to say the least. Where I remained it was filled with bright colors, jewels as far as the eye can see, and many people of power. Some of them were quite deadly." He could be included within those ranks.

Deciding to draw, he reached to the right of his desk and picking up the box of pencils he flipped the latch and eased the lid open. Turning the box to rest it off to the side of the side of the desk's surface, he gathered a few nearby parchments and stretched them along the flat surface. Absently his fingers grazed over the smooth paper, then picking up one of the thin tipped black pencils, he began a steady sketching, filling the air with the soft scratch of the charcoal.

Leaning an elbow upon her knee and cupping her chin in her palm, she leaned forward, lulled by the quiet sounds of his drawing. Her eyes drifted closed as she tried to imagine palaces filled with dark-skinned people, garbed in voluminous trousers of every color, women dressed in soft flowing garments, their faces veiled. Jeweled floors, jeweled walls and ceilings. Perhaps there were no such things in Persia, but she could well imagine that there might be. Maybe there were gardens of every imaginable plant, maybe there were menageries of exotic animals. She envied Erik his travels. She envied anyone who had the opportunity to go to such places, to live there.

Sitting up, she studied his narrow back, bent over his desk. "I would have liked to have visited there, to seen those things, even if there would be danger. I wonder if they would have accepted servants like me? Maybe it would be preferable to _this."_

That particular comment had dual-colored eyes drift over in her direction, and they settled there in a stoic silence. "No," he began flatly. "It would not have been preferable in the least. Beyond the fact that you would have others to assist you with the chores, your life is constantly in danger. Be it from those you 'work' for or from the creatures that have a tendency to sneak into the open rooms. I highly doubt that is an adequate balance between there and here."

A pause, then he shrugged. "And there you would be a slave, not a servant. No more than a bauble and a piece of property." She might be dressed within expensive garb, but he still didn't believe that being a servant for the Persians would be better than one for the Japanese.

Silent, she allowed her gaze to meet his for several moments, then lowered her eyes. She'd never dreamed that a place of such that held such mystery and allure for her imagination could possibly be dangerous or degrading for her, but then again, she was ignorant of the world, having never even been beyond the safe shores of England before her permanent stay here. Her life was if anything ,predictable, even safe, though it was a hard, rigid existence.

She raised her eyes again to him, and considered his words. He spoke of Persia in such a dead voice. What had he endured there? What had he seen, to make him have such an utter lack of feeling about the land?

"You were an architect there ... and you have such fine clothing from your stay ... were you held in high esteem?" She was insatiably curious about him _and _who he was, despite the impropriety of asking such things.

"High esteem?", he repeated. A soft bark of a laugh came to his lips, then it died immediately with a grunt. "One way to place it, indeed. I was not only an architect there, but an ... entertainer for the Khanum. Who is the Shah's mother." Razor thin was the unfeeling smile that came to his lips.

"If I did not entertain her well enough ..." trailing off, he brought a thin finger across his throat, in a slitting gesture, then palm up his fingers splayed and his shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. Dropping his hand he brought his attention to the sketching again, and switching the charcoal from one hand to the other, he placed an elbow upon the table then propped his jaw against the heel of his palm.

"She would have killed you if you had disappointed her? If you had not _entertained_ her well enough!" Her eyes widened, and she lifted one small hand to the V opening of her tunic, her fingers curling into the opening in a gesture of disbelief. Shaking her head slightly, she shifted upon the floor, stretching out one leg in front of her. Even with the harsh rules that she lived and breathed by, she knew that the Masters would never do her a truly serious harm. Perhaps Kito would if provoked enough, but she did not worry for her life, if not the weekly bruise or two. What a truly horrible possibility! To wonder if you would not live another day because you had not brought enough tickled someone's fancy enough.

"What a horrid woman she must have been, to treat the life of another human in such a negligent way!"

"She was royalty." He didn't believe that to be a plausible excuse, though it was enough for the Khanum. He shrugged again. "She could do anything she liked, and more. No one dare tell her she was wrong, not even her son, the ruler of the land." Another bit of laughter came, this time it was genuine. "Except me. Oh the expressions that would cross her veiled face." As they spoke, Persia came alive upon the parchment. The very palace that he had taken residence within.

The grand, sweeping architecture, the expansive garden, even people littered the grounds. Slave girls lounging near the fountain, watched over by scimitar wielding guards, and high above, rested within her elaborately designed balcony, was the Khanum herself. Though he thought cruel of her, he could only be realistic within the art. Even small in measure, only a fraction of the size the others were, the detail of her clothing was exquisite.

She raised her head at the sound of his laughter, his genuine laughter. It was a sound like she had never heard before, so rich and vibrant, musical and beautiful in its tone. After he had once again fell into silence, sketching upon the parchment, she found herself wishing that she could hear it again.

Her lips curving into a smile, she finally raised to her feet, pushing her braid over her shoulder. Cautiously she approached him, coming to stand at his shoulder. He was now completely engrossed in his sketch, and she knew that she would only disturb him if she continued with her questioning. Looking over his shoulder, she studied his sketch, her eyes taking in the details. Once again, she was awestruck at his ability to create such stunning visuals. She could almost hear the fountain, the talk of the ... _harem _... girls.

Her gaze went upwards to the regal woman, a tiny depiction of what must be the Shah's mother. Even in the minute detail, it was easy to see her beauty. Clearing her throat she asked him softly if he would care for a hot bath for his sore muscles.

Fingertips rubbed gently against the line of his jaw, one painting a light dusting of black against the overly pale skin while the other trio grazed along the silk, and with each stroke he became ever more engrossed in the sketching he was doing. When the line art was complete, he switched the black for a lighter color. It was always best to begin with the lighter shades, it was easier to cover pale shades than it was the darker spectrum.

The clearing of her throat didn't distract him, nor her question, but it did provoke a response. His head dipped down slightly, dragging from the shelf of his palm which slid back to knead against the slope of his neck. It was surprising that he was still awake. After such a long day he had thought he was going to go unconscious the moment he had relaxed. His mind was active again, though, and this was expressed within the elegant brushes of gold he was creating upon the domed roof of one section of the palace.

She followed the path of his hand with her eyes, noting the way that he kneaded his neck with his thumb and fingers. Her brow furrowed as she noted that the taut pale flesh did not give one bit under the pressure of his kneading. His muscles were locked tight from his activities of the day, of which there had been many.

With one last look at his sketching and the palace that was now coming to life with color, she tilted her head and regarded him quietly. He was engrossed fully in his sketching, oblivious even to the marks he had left along his jaw. Not for the first time she found herself smiling at the way he was utterly consumed by his work. She did not wish to disturb him, but finally she raised her voice again. "I'll bring your bath water and your oils, and a pot of tea, if you so desire. You might also consider allowing me to work the knots from your muscles." She paused, watching the sketching once more, her eyes drifting to the 'queen,' then, frowning, she slipped quietly from the room.

"Mmhm," he hummed a bit belatedly. Already gone, it wasn't a sound she would've heard. The Shah was within the picture as well, walking among the gardens with another familiar figure at his side. The Daroga. A wry twist came to his lips as he shaded in the cloth that wrapped his head. _Just what happened to him_, he wondered? Though he had been rude and sarcastic to the man so often, Nadir always returned to try to help in any manner he could. Even if he did bring eternal rest to his son.

Was that going to be the way the rest of his life was lived? Surrounded by suffering and death, especially of those that he meant something to. Or meant something to him. Mid stroke he dropped the pale yellow aside and took up the black again, placing in another addition to the picture next to the Daroga. Little Reza.


	25. Rook to Pawn

**Chapter Twenty-Five:**Rook to Pawn

The halls of the house were silent as she drew buckets of steaming water for his bath. Regardless, Anna kept one eye upon the two entrances to the kitchens, wary of any approach; namely Kito's. He never appeared, though she did hear the padding footsteps of another down the hall, crossing from one side of the house out to the gardens. Moments later she caught the scent of pipe smoke, then the tell-tale scrape of a stool across stone. On clear nights, her youngest master often sat outside to smoke, especially when he was in a foul mood.

So it was with a good deal of care that she slipped quietly back down the hall to Erik's room, the thought of alerting Kito to her presence an undesirable one. She only gave a soft knock upon the screen before entering. If he was still engrossed in his drawing, he would barely take notice of her entrance as it was. She filled his basin with the hot water, humming quietly in the back of her throat.

Evolving to the darker colors, he used his pinky to spread the shade across the parchment, melding in with the lighter hues until the blending became perfect. So detailed, the wind swept hair of the harem girls almost looked as if one could pass their fingers through. Reza was complete, tiny fingers clutched at his fathers hand as he walked beside him. The last he had seen of the boy he was unable to do so; blind and lame was he.

Gathering the black again, with the sharply pointed tip he added a bit more detail to the joy filled expression of the child. Placing the stick aside he looked upon the drawing slowly, and was pulled from that thoughtful haze by her voice. Raising his head slightly, his dual-colored gaze rested upon her quietly as she hummed.

Removing Erik's soap and oil from the pockets of her trousers, she laid them beside the basin, uncorked the oil, then bent over the basin and poured in a generous amount, then stirred the water with one hand. When a fine film of fragrant bubbles appeared on the surface, she sat up and recorked the small bottle, ceasing her humming and turned to find him regarding her.

Smiling softly, she pressed to her feet, then approached him cautiously. With one hand she gestured to the drawing lying across the desk. "May I take a look?" she asked before stepping to the side of the low desk, resting the tips of her fingers on the surface. "Then I'll leave you so you may take your bath."

Resting his hand against the edge of the drawing, he pressed it over so she'd be able to take a look, then arching his back a grimace passed over his lips as his spine cracked with the changing of position. Breathing out a slow sigh he tipped his head to one side then the other, cracking his neck as well. Stiff, and sore, he didn't think he was going to be able to train with Dakuro tomorrow. Kneading along the back of his neck slowly, he lowered his free hand and pressed to a stand.

A bath sounded absolutely heavenly at this point and time, and he was quite sure that he was going to end up falling to sleep in there. Loosening the obi he folded it up, letting the robe dangle freely from his thin shoulders, and as he walked over toward the divider, he shrugged it off. With a silent hiss, the silk fell along his arms and off of his back, dropping listlessly to the floor before he had vanished behind the screen.

Raising his head slightly he glanced toward it, attempting to see her, but with the way the light was striking, that wasn't possible. Instead of getting undressed the rest of the way, he lowered to a sit along the bath's edge, waiting for her to depart. Longer he waited, though ... the more that water was becoming drawing.

With careful fingers, she slid the drawing toward the lamplight, bending slightly at the waist to have a better look. No detail escaped her notice. Fascinated, she slowly perused the sketch, especially fixated upon the minute details of the faces. Some had more than others, especially a man holding the hand of a small boy, each nuance sketched with such care. _These two were important to him_...

Straightening, she glanced toward the screen, which he had disappeared behind. Something made her throat tighten, some emotion, sensed and held within that drawing, and suddenly she felt she knew him. But that sensation passed as quickly as it came, and she realized she knew nothing.

Frowning, she bent to retrieve the buckets set by the screen and moved to leave. Turning her head over her shoulder, she spoke softly. "Please find me in my room should you need anything else. Goodnight, Erik."

Glancing to the screen again he nodded faintly, then realizing that she couldn't see the gesture, he lifted his voice. "Good night, An-..." Breaking in the middle of her name with a slow, and powerful yawn, he blinked away the tears. "...-na. Wake me should I not meet Dakuro outside." Tucking his thumbs within the drawn line of the trousers, he inched them down until he was able to escape the silken legs. Tossing them over his shoulder to the robe carelessly.

Finally he slid into the water and closed his eyes as the heat evoked a low pitched groan to his throat. Already he could feel the warmth soaking into his skin and the taut muscles below. His fingers strayed to his mask, but paused and curled his arms around his stomach instead.

Assenting to wake him if needed she turned away, blushing as she saw his trousers tossed to join the robe, she left quickly, making her way back to the kitchens with her buckets. The other occupants lay sleeping about her in their rooms, and she noted with pained relief that Kito's screen was now closed tightly.

The buckets were replaced in the kitchens, and she slipped back to her own room. After changing out of the riding clothes into a night shift and her robe, she paused, biting her lip, then bent down and pulled out from underneath her bed a worn and yellowed book, its covers leather bound and peeling from having no proper place to store it.

Climbing onto the bed, tucking her legs beneath her, she opened it carefully, her small hands gentle upon the pages. She went through page after page of birds, cats, her dog Molly, a favorite doll, until she finally reached a sketch of a man and a woman. It was one that was nearly faded completely from age and the caress of a hand over the features of the couple for year after year. She had drawn it only a week before their deaths, on the long boat ride here. Her father sat, one arm about his wife, her head upon his shoulders, both laughing, both smiling, their hands joined at her mother's throat. Anna stare at the picture until her eyes grew tired and the page blurred.

Blinking, she replaced the book, turned down her small lamp, and laid down. It was a long time before she fell asleep.

Just as he had predicted, the moment he relaxed within the hot water and his eyes closed, exhaustion took over and he fell into a deep slumber. His head rested tipped back against the edge, thin arms laid wrapped around his stomach, and his legs folded comfortably – if that was possible in the small basin – he had been so tired that he had forgotten to remove his mask.

Sleeping had always been considered a waste of time to him, and a time when he was revisited by memories he had rather remained buried within his psyche. It was one of which that had startled him from what was supposed to have been a content sleep; grimy hands reached for his slender throat, squeezing, thumbs pressed deep against his pulse...

Water spilled over the floor as he jerked upward, gasping, his hands immediately going to his neck. Convincing himself that it was only a dream he drug himself out of the water, and without bothering to dry, gathered his robe to place it back on. Lowering to a sit upon his bed roll he rubbed his throat slowly with one hand while the other snapped the latches of his violin's case.

Brushing his fingers along the length of ruddy cherry wood, he collected the instrument and its bow, then tucking the curved belly beneath the jut of his chin he began playing, sealing up the disjointed fractures in his soul, and exorcizing demons that would only return when next he slept.

It was the haunting strains of violin music from deep inside the house that woke Anna from her sleep. For a few moments, she lay quietly, hardly daring to breathe so that no small sound should interrupt what she was hearing. Fingers curling about the soft, worn linen of her pillowcase, she curled her knees into her stomach, the room chilly from the early morning air outside.

As the musician continued to play, scenes from her dream played through her mind, her parents laughing in their cabin on the steamer, the first time she had caught a glimpse of their destination, the sight of mountains rising, strange trees twisting through the air, a foreign language sung all around her.

Eventually the images faded, and the sound of a screen being opened and shut then a voice calling her name in petulant tones interrupted and ruined the simple pleasure of listening to Erik play. For a brief moment, she allowed her self to enjoy the thought of simply ignoring Kito and letting him go hang and prepare his own tonic from a night spent smoking too much opium and imbibing too much sake and wine.

But then he hollered again, adding several insults to calling of her name, and she rose, mumbling under her breath. She dressed quickly and bound back her hair then left her room. He was standing in the hall, his smug broad face quite piggish in appearance. When she glided past him and into the kitchens to do his bidding, she found a certain satisfaction in neither bowing nor lowering her eyes. _He can very well sod off!_

She would have no such luck. Like a shark drawn by fresh blood, he had seen that flash of defiance and a smug grin passed over his lips. _So, she has fire in her tonight. _Moments after she had entered the kitchen, Kito's broad shoulders had filled the doorway and he folded his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes upon her. "Forgetting your place, you ugly little girl? I think that _thing_ is influencing you too much."

Lifting his head he glanced over his shoulder, listening to the music coming from the masked-one's room, and a disgusted sneer crossed over his lips. Music was the pride of the Japanese, just as much as their honor, fighting and sword making. But the music that one created seemed almost ... blasphemous. Turning his head around again, blackish eyes focused upon her. "Maybe you should be reminded that you're only a stupid little servant."

She already had a pan set upon the stove and the gas turned up beneath the burner in order to heat the sesame seeds that would be blended into his tonic to hide the bitter taste of mustard and raw eggs. She was dipping sugar from a small porcelain container into the pan, the sweet crystals hissing on contact with the heat when she realized that he stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

At his insult at her appearance, she didn't raise a brow. Nor did she spare any hurt over it; it was a common enough jab of his. But when he made mention of Erik and the time that she spent with him, she turned, her eyes flying to his, a spark of anger and no small amount of fear shooting through her. It was an old accusation that he had made before, and that she had hoped he had let go of.

But no. He would not be able to resist the temptation to poke fun. But she knew that this time, it was more than just a joke. His hatred for the masked man was no secret. And he had used her in the past as a stand-in.

Swallowing back her fear, she turned back to her duties, her pulse thundering in her ears. "I need no reminder of what I _am._ I am more than aware of it," she turned back to him, her eyes meeting his for one brief moment, "_Master."_

"Apparently not aware enough." Moving away from the threshold, he entered the kitchen, drawing close to her. His arms remained crossed over his chest, fingers tapping slowly against a tricep. Close enough where she could smell the sweet scent of poppyseeds, he leaned even nearer where he was almost face to face with her. "Where's your protector now?"

Though the night had been over a week ago, it remained firm within his mind. That thing had the audacity to stop him from punishing the girl, most of all it was that _look_ he recalled. A simple _look_ had his blood run cold through his veins. Kito had feared no one save for his own father, and to fear anyone else over a matter that was _normal_ was a great insult to him.

The strains of violin filtering through to the kitchens were indicator enough of where her _protector_ was ... and Kito knew it. And she was more than aware at that this time in the morning, no one else in the household was up and about, only herself, the man looming over her, and the violinist sequestered in his room.

Swallowing, her hands trembling as she picked up a wooden spoon and began to toast the seeds with the sugar, she did not turn to face him again, but kept her eyes fixed on what she was doing. He was close, so close she could feel the heat of his body and the sweet sickly smell of poppy seeds on his breath. But she suppressed the shudder that wanted to rack her form and thought carefully over her next words.

"He is not my protector. And I should think you know very well where he is at. He is enjoying his _new_ violin, as the last one was damaged." Closing her eyes, she cursed herself for her lack of respect in her tone. She had to remind herself that while Erik had allowed her to speak freely in his presence, she was under no such privelage in the company of Kito.

This was a fact he was going to remind her of very quickly. Provoked by the underlying snappish tone of her voice, he snatched her up quickly by her hair and pulled her away from her task of preparing his tonic. He didn't need it now, he had something else to distract him. Anna gasped as she was jerked roughly from the stove, the wooden spoon falling from her startled fingers with a clatter on the floor. With his thick fingers buried, he gave her a shake and tears smarted her eyes as her hair pulled against her tender scalp.

"He enjoyed that thing, huh? Maybe I should damage something else he enjoys. After all, you've been taking plenty of liberties. Riding Muran without permission..." Now he was just grasping for straws, wanting something else to punish her for beyond her prior insolence and his irritation with the bag of bones. He knew his mother allowed her to ride the mare, but she didn't know that.

As he spat his accusations and threats at her, she reached for his hand, her fingers wrapping about his thick, heavy wrist and tried to claw his hold loose on her, but it was impossible. He outweighed her by far and was heavily muscled despite the layer of indolent fat.

"Let me go!" she gritted through her teeth as he shook her, and she shoved her body at his chest. Fear was now rising swift in the back of her throat, choking her. She had always feared that one day he would do her a serious harm and it now seemed he meant to. For a brief moment her eyes flew to the searing pan, but her common sense won out. Her punishment would be far more severe if she struck him.

She struggled and cast about for an escape but could find none.

Twisting his hand firmly, he pulled her further from the stove, and toward the doorway. He wouldn't be denied; with that taint running through his veins, his strength was a bit more than usual and he was determined to use all of it. Literally dragging her behind him, he gave a yank each time she attempted to get loose, the pinch of her nails into his wrist fazed him none. If anything, it did nothing but spur him on.

Reaching the screen door that would lead him out into the garden, he wrenched it open and shoved her through the door way, but didn't release her. He wasn't going to let her get away so easily.

The sun was just coming over the horizon, dawn was just breaking, turning the blackness into a soft gold, but Anna took no notice of the morning. Gasping the cold, early air into her lungs, she began to struggle in earnest. _What_ _is he going to do! What if I can't stop him! _

When hot tears began to form in her eyes at the pain of her hair being nearly ripped from her head and the terror building inside her, she cast a desperate look back at the house, but all was silent inside, the only noise the violin still singing hauntingly, now a mere mockery to her.

Kito s face was dark with anger and something else, some sick satisfaction. His eyes were clearing of the influence of the smoke, but the violence afterward would remain. It was his true self; this ugly creature.

She took a deep breath into her lungs, opening her throat to scream as loud as she could.

Only a sliver of the shriek had escaped before his palm clasped firmly against her mouth, his fingers sinking against her cheek and jaw. He gave her another shake, harsher than the previous one as he hissed near her ear. "Shut up!" Glancing over his shoulder to the empty hall, he moved further from the house where he wouldn't have to worry of his parents hearing her.

Once, already, his father had gotten irritated with him for striking the girl. What did it matter anymore? He had fallen out of favor thanks to that creature. It had been well on its way, yes, but Erik was the catalyst. "No one cares what happens to you anyway. No one cares if I beat you bloody, you stupid girl. You're nothing but a servant. A _slave."_

Her struggles for air were now loud exhalations and gasps against his palm. Fingers were digging deep into the flesh of her cheeks and jaw, bruising the skin. Anna was now crying in earnest, tears rolling down her cheeks and over his hands her sobs wet and choking.

The stables loomed ahead in the lifting darkness of dawn, and she could already hear the stamp and whuffle of a horse.

_He's going to beat me_. That mantra went through her brain over and over, until she was near hysterical with it. She'd been struck before, yes, even whipped by Kito, the prelude to those punishments had never been like this, never been this terrifying. He was striking out at Erik through her, was going to punish Erik through her, even though the other man was as indifferent to her as Kito himself was.

And he was right. She was a _slave!_ Who would care if they heard her screaming, who would run to help if they even saw him beating her. _No_ _one_. It was the way of things. The way of things...the way _of bloody things!_

Desperate and enraged and terrified, she did the only thing she knew to do. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and sank her teeth into his palm. She nearly retched at the taste of blood.

Grunting a yelp, he yanked his hand away at the same time his hand tightened viciously within her hair, wrenching hard enough to bring a sharp pain to the slender slope of her neck. That pain would be nothing compared to the one that had a sudden, splintered burst across her cheek with the strike of his hand. His reaction was swift and unthinking, but the next one wasn't.

Finally releasing her, he did it with a shove, thrusting her in the direction of an empty stall's door once they had entered the stable. Instinctively shaking his hand he brought it up into the scant light that was within the building. Prodding at the bite, he growled and stalked closer to closer to her.

"I'll have your head for that."


	26. A Devastating Blow

**Chapter Twenty-Six:** A Devastating Blow

Dizzy and sick from the pain of his strike across her cheek, she fell to her hands and knees in the stall, her fists clenching into the dry straw beneath her. By now her hair had been completely ripped out of the bun and hung down in her wet, red face, her cheek bone already starting to swell and darken.

She choked, gagging, and nearly vomited onto the floor. Looking up through her tears, she watched him approach, and cried out, scuttling back from him on all fours, her fear making her react like a wounded, pinned animal. Scrabbling, she dug through the straw desperately, searching for anything to strike him with or stab him with, but found nothing. _Oh, god, oh god, oh god._

She pushed herself into the farthest corner, crossing her arms over herself and drawing her knees up to her chin.

"If you touch me again, I'll scream! I'll _scream!_" she shrieked up at him, knowing that it wouldn't matter one bit if she screamed the roof down on her head. The stables were out of earshot of the house, the family was asleep, Erik was playing his violin, and she was Kito 's property, to do with as he wished.

"I daresay there is no need to. That scream of yours can wake the dead." Kito's murderous approach had stopped dead at the voice behind him, and he turned slowly to look upon the slender figure within the doorway and was momentarily disturbed by the way that single golden eye seemed to glint in the low light.

"Hello," Erik stated simply, a slow smile pulling across his lips. He had been playing, soothing his mind with the notes that were strung together in a random pattern, creating a song that he could never be able to duplicate when that very scream of hers drew him out of that melodic haze. It had been short lived, but did it's job; attracted the attention of someone.

"Anna. Do return to my room, my bath water has become dreadfully cold."

_That voice..._

She had never been so relieved, so happy, to hear someone simply speak.

From the corner she sat huddled in, she stared through her loose hair and the haze of tears at the tall, formidably frightening man standing there, barely believing that he was real. She believed that at any moment, he might disappear and she would be left in this nightmare. Then with sudden clarity, her eyes flew to Kito's face, and the look she saw there chilled her to her very soul.

Raw, naked hate shown back in the obsidian depths of Kito's eyes. His thick fists were clenched. Veins were standing out in stark relief on his heavy, bull neck. In that moment, he looked as if he could tear someone apart, limb from limb. Neither was looking at her. Erik had given her a command, and expected her to obey it. She couldn't though. She knew what Kito was like with opium running through his veins. He'd nearly snapped her neck simply by jerking her hair. Even now, she could feel blood building from broken vessels beneath her cheek.

"Please go, Erik," she whispered, standing to her feet, holding onto the stall wall for support. "I will be there shortly. Please go." She pleaded with him with her eyes, aware that Kito was tensing, and that nothing would hold him back this time.

Though she pleaded, he didn't move. Stoicly still, his hands remained tucked within the belled sleeves of his kimono, fingers curled along his wrists. It was at that moment he wished that he had brought his stiletto with him. Thus far Kito had backed down from him, and he expected the man to do it again. Though he recognized that look within his eyes; the rage, the bloodlust. It was something Erik had become very familiar with in his young life.

Only briefly did he glance toward Anna, then his gaze was drawn back toward the man and he shook his head faintly. "No. Return to the house, Anna." He seemed so very calm, though that was hardly the case. Beating a woman was just ... absolutely wrong in his book. Especially for someone Kito's size.

"She stays here. I'm not finished with her yet." Kito sneered, one corner of his lips lifting to reveal his teeth. Fists clenching and unclenching, he began to shift his weight from foot to foot, the desire to hurt this _thing_ in front him growing with each breath. Rage was building, hard and fast, stemming from the satisfaction and arousal he'd garned from the plans he'd had for Anna.

_Anna._ He inwardly laughed. But why hurt a meaningless little animal when he could simply beat the life out of whom, _what_, he really wanted to damage.All restraint had flown, along with any sense of self-preservation. The opium had assured that. He'd smoked nearly all night, the amount of the drug in his system was at a dangerous level.

"Or..." he growled low in his throat. "Perhaps I am..." And he lunged, his speed faster than what was normal. Kito's growl and the shift of his weight had been enough to inform him of the attack that was to come. Adrenaline had spread like wild fire through Erik's veins with that warning, as brief as it was.

It was unintelligent to remain standing in one place when a bull's rush was directed toward him, and with the reflexes of a cat he darted off to the side, leaving the man with air to run into. Immediately he glanced over the stable, searching briefly for something to use as a weapon. Saddles were far too heavy to just up and lift, and the tack was too far to get to.

Narrowing his eyes he focused his gaze upon Kito, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. "I suggest you, too, go back into the house, Kito," he warned in an all too soft tone.

Barely missing smashing his nose into the stall's wall, Kito spun on his heel, teeth bared and snarling, spittle flying from his mouth. By now, any rationality had flown in the face of the weeks of surpessed rage at this ugly bastard. _He is quick, huh? Thinks he's some powerful god?_ Erik's calm demeanor, his low, soft words were even more fuel to the flames. _Arrogant bag of bones!_ He'd break every one of those last bones before he was done with him.

Breathing heavily through his nose, and lowering his wide shoulders, he began to circle Erik, adrenaline and the after affects of the opium flowing through his blood. With narrowed eyes, he could see that the other man's skinny laughable shoulders were not held as high as usual. Through the red haze of hunger for violence came the more rational thought that his enemy was tired._ Maybe all this swordplay and responsibility my stupid father_ _has given him be for some use afterall!_ He snickered, and flicked a glance at Anna, who was plastered against the stall wall, her eyes huge in her face.

"Don't leave anytime soon, Anna. When I'm done with your protector, I'll finish with you." He turned his attention back to Erik. Moving slowly, if not carefully, he drew closer and closer, using his considerably larger size to block the only exit.

_Those who are skilled in combat do not become angered,' _Dakuro's voice came back to Erik then, quoting to him the Art of War. '_Those who are skilled at winning do not become afraid. Thus the wise win before they fight, while the_ _ignorant fight to win.' _

Not once did he turn his back toward Kito as he circled, closening. He countered, turning with him, all the while backing up and keeping careful note of just where he was going. His eyes narrowed upon the man slowly, and as much as he tried to keep the older man's words in his mind, anger itched at the corners of his mind with his words toward Anna.

Setting his jaw firmly, his fingers twitched as he caught sight of a rope, and for a moment he saw Kito's face a discolored purple with him clawing at his throat. Though overworked muscles screamed in protest, he tensed slowly, readying to dart out of the way again at the first signs of attack. Taking Kito head on wasn't smart. Erik might have been strong for his size, but Kito was influenced by more than just anger.

With Erik countering his slow steps, the both of them turning in a slow circle, Kito felt a jolt of satisfaction when he felt the air at his back from the open stall door. With one quick motion, he reached behind him, jerked the door closed with one arm, the door ratting in its frame and snibbed the lock from the outside, leaving the upper stall door open. Then he began his approach, clenching and unclenching his fists, his knuckles cracking loudly in the room, where the only sounds were Anna's low keening breaths, the even breathing of Erik, his own harsh pants, and the slide of their feet across the hay.

It was not, however, his father's teaching that came to mind when he planned his next move, but rather what he had learned in the school yard and in the darker streets of the village when he and his chums wouldn't get their way. _Find a weak spot, then pound the hell out of it._ And Kito fought like a rabid dog, latching on and never letting go until his opponent either begged or was half-dead. This time, though, he _didn't _believe he'd stop. He'd beat that masked face to a pulp.

_The mask..._

His eyes fixed on the black silk and a smile twisted his lips. Refocusing on the man himself, he paused, not moving and stared hard. Without warning, he lunged, catching one of the slender arms, making to wrench the limb, but at the last minute, driving his other fist deep into the now vulnerable ribs exposed by the raised arm.

Within a rush his air spilled from him, leaving him gasping for breath and in pain. Fingers that had been at the belt of his robe released, groping air before curling firmly. It was out of natural instinct that had him lash back, sending that very fist toward Kito's throat.

He might not have had the same type of experience, or training in fist fighting, but from simply living Erik knew all about vulnerable spots. More than once he had been kicked in the ribs, his torso brutally attacked with fists and whips. It was the only reason he was able to recover quickly enough to attempt to get away

The concern that had been there for Anna was completely gone now. All he could focus upon was the one that held him and the ache that spread through his ribs, fading due to the growing rage.

Gagging, his apple's adam feeling as if it had been punched through to the back of his throat, Kito nearly released Erik's arm. He reeled back, coughing, nearly retching, stomach heaving from the pain. Spitting bile upon the straw covered floor, his eyes watered furiously. But his rage quickly rose steadily again, he whirled back, the bony, ropy arm still in his hand, he used the same fist, but open this time and drove the flat of his palm between neck and shoulder in one savage motion, his own roar of violence mingling with Anna's scream of terror then her plea to stop, but he spared the stupid girl no thought.

With that blow landed, he released the captive arm, and backed up, hand clutching at his throat. While he backed up, Erik remained upon fours where he landed from the stumble inducing shove. The soreness of his knees faded away quickly enough, and he lifted a scuffed hand to take a hold of the loosened belt. Wrenching it free he eased up to a stand, but the sudden shock of pain that throbbed from his neck toward his head nearly made him sick and he paused mid ascent. The belt wasn't as good as the catgut, but it could possibly come in handy.

"Is that.. all you have," he taunted, turning to face him again. The draping of cloth dangled freely from his thin shoulders, its open front revealing the bruise that was already forming at his side and the curvature between neck and shoulder. Raising his free hand he wiped across his mouth, getting rid of the moisture that was there.

Coughing up more bile, Kito straightened and smiled despite the dull pain in his throat, already feeling the area beginning to swell. That smile grew even wider when he had his first glimpse of that thing's bare torso. Apart from the sleek muscles of the chest, the rest of him was merely skin and wiry muscle stretched over prominent bones, ribs jutting, stomach drawn. And the nearly white skin was turning a satisfying shade of purple.

"All I have, Erik? It would appear," gesturing between the wide barrel of his own chest and shoulders to the nearly skeletal form, "that I have a great deal more than _you_."

Hands fisting, legs spread, he approached again, body lowering defensively, aggressively. He flicked an eye at the robe's belt grasped in one bony hand, but paid it no mind. _What a weakling..._Calculating the distance between them, he spun, faster than one would have ever expected of one his size, one leg flying up, the broad side of his foot aimed for the other man's shoulders and head.

It was something Erik wouldn't have expected, surely. Such styles of fighting was something he had only read about. The ones he had battled before were so desperate to live that they made a mistake the moment that they had escaped the gates, becoming quick victims to the coil of braided catgut.

Somehow managing to keep to his feet, even after staggering off to the side, he hissed faintly, and finally allowed that anger to take over. With a snarl in the base of his throat he lunged at Kito, using all of his body weight to rush into him. Even if it was slight, it was enough to disturb the balance of the larger man, and with a quickness that would surely astonish him later, the belt was wrapped nicely about his throat and he pulled, shutting off Kito's flow of air.

Gagging at first, then eyes bulging Kito dug his thick fingers into the belt and pulled, but the length of fabric was wound so tightly that the stubby tips couldn't even find purchase between the belt and skin. The lack of air and the rapid rise and fall of his chest soon had him seeing black spots. Blood pounded in his ears.

Sinking to his knees before the other man, he reached up, grasping at the Erik's robe with weak hands, the cutting off of oxygen weakening him minute by minute. From across the room, he could just vaguely hear Anna screaming, begging Erik to stop. For the first time in his life, he hoped that a slave could have some influence on her master.

Rage was quickly being replaced by terror and a certainty he was going to die. He made a feeble attempt to throw a punch, but his hand only batted at the other man's pale ribs.

It was a strike Erik could hardly feel. Consumed by a bestial bloodlust, he wanted nothing more than to witness the light dimming from Kito's now frightened black eyes, to listen to his last gasping breath. The beat of his heart pounded harshly within his ears, drowning out rational thought.

The tightness of the belt turned his already pale hands even more wan, shutting off the circulation of blood to his fingers that were clenched so harshly his nails broke the skin in his palms. The tide of rage was maddening, and he rode upon it with an experts ease.

Kito could barely feel blood vessels popping in his face, _could_ feel tremendous pressure building under his cheeks and in his nose. _Black_. Everything was going black. All vestiges of rage were gone now, replaced by sheer terror and desperation. Every sound, Erik's growls, Anna's wails, were lost under the thundering of his own heart, beating so fast that he knew it might explode any minute.

Meeting Kito's gaze, Erik growled within the base of his throat, then the belt was yanked even harder, and his last breath was caught within his heaving lungs. It sound that brought Erik disturbing pleasure and a strong sense of power. But...suddenly, with that sudden jerk, came a split second of laxness. Just a brief moment of Erik's muscles easing a minute bit after such a yard yank.

It was enough.

Gasping, a tiny rush of air filled his lungs and in that nearly painful surge of adrenaline, he raised up, muscles screaming, and plowed his fist upward between Erik's thighs, driving the testicles there up into their base with a vicious, audible crunch.

There was no sound that came from Erik, all of his air was trapped within his throat, severely locked, and spots burst before his eyes. Immediately he released the belt and he sank, hard to the ground. Curling his shoulders forward, his hands tucked within the apex of his thighs, he tried to swallow back the tears, and the bile that rose within his throat. He was only successful with one; the tears.

What food that had been within his stomach was painfully purged and moments later he collapsed to his side, coughing roughly. Shuddering harshly, a choked, keeling whimper spilled from his burning throat. He had experienced severe pain before, but nothing like this. _Ever_. It felt as if he was going to drop unconscious just from the pain alone.

Staggering to his feet, choking and gasping for air, Kito found it necessary to lean upon the stall's door, one hand braced, as he vomited bile upon the floor. For several moments, he merely leaned there, drawing deep, burning breaths into his scorched lungs. But even under the deteorating pain, satisfaction and an intense desire for violence was building.

Turning, his breaths coming easier now, he crossed his arms.

"How charming!" he rasped out, between harsh laughter. The site before him was a immensely hysterical and satisfying one. Erik lay curled on his side, hands clutching between his thighs, whimpering in pain, the bruises on his body dark against the pale, sickly skin. Anna, no longer against the wall, was beside him on her knees, her bruised and swollen face crumpled in tears as she gingerly touched her worthless protector's shoulder.

Pushing off the stall, he grabbed her by the hair and tossed her aside as if she were nothing, giving a grin when her head hit the wall with a dull thump. Bending, he fisted his hands in Erik's hair, now much longer than when he had come and jerked the man up by the roots.

"I'd like to see what's behind the mask, now if you please. Maybe your face is scarier than the way you fight, which is laughable. Let's just see..." And grinning, lifting Erik 's head to the lantern overhead, he ripped away the mask.

'_How disgusting! Such things should not be shown in public ...' _The laughter ... It rang within his ears, mockingly mingled with the shrieks of women and the weeping of children. Cries of the 'living corpse' within a heavily accented voice returned to haunt him, followed by the snapping rapport of a whip. The cool air against raw, distorted flesh brought these images and more to his shattered mind. A mothers terrified, uncaring dash of him from her breast, the sound of a scream and land-slide of falling masonry.

"No!" he howled, his hands lifting to dig his nails into the fingers that held him. Where it was rage that brought out the animal urge to kill, now it was terror that had him fight, leaving bloody gouges within the thick flesh.

Raising herself up upon her hands and knees, her head dully throbbing from Kito dashing her into the wall, Anna turned, still sobbing in the back of her throat, and tried to lunge forward, desperate to stop Kito. He had Erik by the hair, preparing to beat him, his broad face red and discolored, his beady black eyes wild in his face. But just as she screamed out for him to stop, not even hearing him as she spoke to Erik, Kito did something she had not been expecting.

He had ripped the mask off.

And her scream died in her throat. Her hands fell, limp at her sides.

If it was possible, she would have believed her heart even stopped beating. Kito was frozen in place above Erik, one hand holding the mask, the other still in his hair, his face frozen in a expression of sheer disbelief.

She stared. _Oh, God,_ she wanted to look away, wanted to shut her eyes and pretend it was something out of the depths of her imagination, that she would wake any minute. But like a spectator who cannot look away from a grisly mishap, she couldn't even blink.

His face was..._dead. _

As if the head of a corpse, long decaying, had been placed upon the body of a living man and expected to exist there. The eyes were vivid, alive, and in hideous pain, wild with terror, but the rest...there was no nose, only a cavity, triangular in shape. His sockets were sunken into the brow bone, his cheekbones like razors under skin, yellow and nearly transparent, every blue, pulsing vein exposed to sight. Only the thin lips and nearly perfectly sculpted chin were normal.

She stared and made not a sound. Finally she covered her mouth with one hand, and looked away, tears rolling down her face. She was only dimly aware of Kito nearly tripping over himself to back away from Erik. The distance between the two combatants grew after he had snatched up the mask that Kito had dropped and returned it with a practiced ease over his face, stinging with the warmth of tears.

It was as if some great transformation had been completed once the silk and papier-mache was set back into place; a mask that covered the whole of his body. He had seemed weak before the battle took place, and now it appeared as if he was ten times as strong as he rose to a slow stand despite the pain shooting through his groin, pinning Kito with a hateful glare.

He said nothing, only glanced between the two before turning around and making his way to the stable door. With the latch lifted he stepped through, slamming the door so hard behind him that it rattled on its hinges. Drawing the kimono closed he walked away from the stable, from the house and the plot all together. He needed to go, to find some peace away from the tangible pain. There was only the faintest limps in his steps as he traveled through the lightening darkness, sprinkled with the coming rain.

Not once did he glance back.


	27. Like The Phoenix

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**: Like The Phoenix

If it hadn't been for her shock, disbelief and Kito's staying hand she would have went after him. She had begun to believe it was to be the last time she'd ever see him. A day passed, then two, then a week. And Erik did not return. A week slowly turned into two, then three, then a month had passed. And still he did not return.

Master Kyomi was furious, Mistress Nio was incensed...Kito was smug. He walked about the house, going about his usual patterns of eating at home, then spending the night carousing with friends, his countenance constantly stretched in that foul, knowing smile. Especially when he passed her.

Anna ... she missed him. And not only because during his absence Kito tormented her unchecked, but also because the house, which had always seemed normal before he had arrived now seemed an empty shell. She found herself sometimes straining to hear his music, longing with near tears to hear that violin weeping again. Sometime she went to his room, still filled with all his belongings and touched each one, remembering small, insignificant memories to anyone else but important ones to her. She took care to find and catch crickets to feed the snake kept in the little wicker basket, even taking it out and holding it from time to time, so that it would not get lonely in its masters absence.

As she was.

There was no real reason for her to miss him so. God knows he had always only shown her just enough respect to be agreeable. But he had been the one person she had ever believed might think of her more than just an object and property. When she heard Master's plans one morning to dispose of Erik's belongings, she realized that he wasn't coming back.

The progress of the buildings seemed to be going along without Erik quite well, which did nothing but strengthen the idea that he was uneeded. He didn't have to be seen to direct what was going on; Kaleb had done excellently in relaying the masked-one's orders, and never questioned as to just why Erik was remaining at his house, not after he saw his state.

It had been a day after the stable altercation; Drenched to the bone, his feet, legs and the bottom of his kimono was covered with mud, bruises were livid against his pale skin. Not a word was said when he let his employer into the house, only found him some fresh clothes and a bed to sleep in. He had also done his best to ignore the sounds of anguish that echoed from the small room. Upon coming home and finding Erik gone, he figured that he finally returned to the Kyomi household.

Anna lay awake in her bed, staring at her ceiling. The house lay silent about her, and she was mulling over she had heard earlier that night:

She had been in the kitchens, cleaning up the remains of the evening meal, when she had distinctly heard Erik's name mentioned between Master Kyomi and Mistress Nio. Apparently, the building of the houses had been progressing normally in the architect's absence, each day's work moving in perfect accordance with the schedule. Master Kyomi believed that Erik still remained with the country, and perhaps even near the sites. His tone had been thoughtful. Mistress, however had been disdainful, angered at the lack of respect for their household and their generosity. She had been quickly silenced with a harsh word from her husband and Anna had heard no more.

Part of her was relieved that he remained ... part of her ached that he had removed himself. But then the memory of that dawn rose in her mind and she shut her eyes on hot tears. That _face, _so_ hideous..._the raw anguish in those mismatched eyes...

She was started out of her painful memories by the sound of someone entering the house. The front door opened, and stepping inside, Erik closed it behind him before he continued to his room. The limp was gone, and the bruises were mostly faded; he shoved that night within the back of his mind, though knew it would only return to haunt him the moment he saw either of the two. Wanting to avoid the others, he silently made his way to his room.

Footsteps padded past her door before she heard the open and close of Erik's screen. She blinked up at the ceiling, her brow furrowing. Then in the darkness, she smiled softly and turned onto her side and went to sleep.

* * *

Morning came swiftly upon his heels, and only a few hours after he had returned the sun peaked over the edge of the horizon, introducing a new day. Where sleep came easily to the others, it hadn't for him. His night was occupied by him sketching and planning. When he had smelled breakfast being prepared, he donned his black, white cuffed kimono and a pearl white obi to reflect in vivid contrast to the dark clothing it was wrapped around. 

As if he hadn't been gone for a month, he had entered the dining area, his eyes squinting faintly from the brightness of the sun. With his windows sealed over by heavy cloth, he hadn't been exposed to the day until that moment. Lowering upon his side of the table he rested his hands against his knees, curving gently, and waited for the others to arrive. This time it was he that had been overly early. In silence he waited, his eyes staring forward into the garden.

In the kitchens, Anna was bent over the stove, carefully turning browning rice cakes and some small sausages. Behind her, a tray sat already prepared to take into the dining area, a pot of dark tea and cups laid upon its surface.

Wiping her steam dampened hands upon a towel, and making certain that breakfast would not burn, she lifted the tray and carried it into the dining area so that the family would have their tea waiting for them while she finished the meal. Leaving the kitchens, she cast a glance down the long hall, noting that everyone's screens were still closed. _What would happen this morning? Will Erik show up for the meal? And if he does, how warm will his welcome be?_

There had never been a reason given for his absence. If anyone had noticed the bruising of Kito's throat and the fresh ones on Anna's face, which was common enough, no one mentioned it. Kito, however had often reminded her of her 'protector's' hideousness on occasion, when they were alone. It was in those times she hated her youngest master the most.

She stepped into the empty dining area and nearly drew up short at the sight of Erik sitting there, dressed in stark black and white. She lowered her eyes quickly and set down the tray before him, bowing.

It was the gentle tap of the tray that had snapped him out of his apparent trance, and he turned his eyes toward her, regarding her expressionlessly. The memory of that night brought a sour taste to his mouth, and he almost expected her to begin backing up from him the moment that he laid his eyes upon her. She didn't, though.

What was he still doing here, he wondered? He should have been on a boat back to ... God knows where. There was no place for him to go. Even if he did find a place, there was the fact that the buildings were no where near done, and Erik wasn't one to leave things only partially finished. For what seemed like an eternity his eyes remained upon her, then pulled away to look upon the garden again. There had been a cold shroud around him before, now it was frozen straight down to the marrow of his bones.

Swallowing, feeling the chill of his demeanor deep inside of her, she turned away slowly, blinking rapidly. The somewhat easy way he'd always greeted her, even if it had always been a bit grudging, was now gone along with any sense of companionship. Perhaps because of what had happened that horrific night, he now held her in the same regard as he did Kito: someone who had led to that humiliating and terrifying moment.

And maybe she was as much to blame. If she had not treated Kito with disrespect, if she had never thought to be bold and defiant, that confrontation in that stall would have never happened.

She felt sick inside. One hand on her stomach, she hurried away to the kitchens. Once there, she braced her hands upon the counter, her eyes squeezed tightly, until the cramps of unshed tears faded. Exhaling slowly, she heard a screen slide open in the house, and she straightened, going back to the breakfast.

The morning was quiet, calm. There was a cool breeze easing through through room, coasting over the exposed flesh of his lips, chin and jaw, rustling within the dark reddish-black strands of his hair. After that night it was surprising that he hadn't bothered to shave, just to keep his hair from being grabbed again.

Closing his eyes he pulled in a slow breath, dragging in the mingled scents of cherry and apple blossoms. When the door slid shut, he didn't open his eyes to see who it was. At the time he didn't care. He simply wanted to get the morning over with so he could return to the building site. He knew he had to speak to Dakuro sooner or later, mostly concerning his training. He didn't want to end that just yet, not when he had a reason to become proficient in the art of sword fighting. Revenge.

On the threshold to the dining area, Dakuro paused, passing narrowed eyes over the form of his architect. _So he returned, had he?_ Grunting softly, his hands sunk into his sleeves, he stepped to his place at the head of the low table and sunk to a sit, never taking his eyes from Erik.

He didn't speak, merely stared, considering. Finally, he reached and took an empty cup from the tray, then poured himself tea, adding only a small snip of sugar cane that Anna had provided. Once he'd taken a couple of burning sips and set the cup back down, he lifted on brow, smirking just slightly.

"I have no real reason to be irate over your absence this last month. Afterall, the building has gone according to schedule. However..." he paused, taking another slow sip, "I am disappointed that such a willing and proficient pupil would shirk his responsibilities in training for so long. Do you have the desire to continue learning, or shall I chalk you up as a quitter?"

"I have never quit a thing in my life," he responded within a fluid Japanese. There was hardly a pause between the question and his answer. Cracking open his eyes he turned them over toward Dakuro then finally gathered the teapot to fill his cup. Adding just a bit of sugar for taste, he cupped the porcelain within his long fingers, one of which unconsciously stroked over the side as he returned his blank stare to the garden.

"I would like to begin again as soon as possible. Perhaps before I must depart for the sites?" After a slow, almost thoughtful blink, he tipped the cup to his thin lips, slowly drinking down a swallow. It was then lowered to rest upon the table before him, and he shifted his weight slightly as he turned his attention to the older man. "I trust that is acceptable," every word fell stoicly from his lips. Impassive and unfeeling.

Erik received merely a grunt in reply and a nod of Dakuro's head, then the older man refocused on his tea. It was a mark to his student's credit that after a month of no training, he would wish to pick his sword back up immediately. Muscles used during sword fighting grew lax and soft if not used continually. It wouldn't be easy on the architect, that was certain.

Briefly, Dakuro wondered over his son and the fact that he never saw Kito practice or train. A thick layer of fat covered the heavy, bull muscles of the boy. However, he knew those muscles were strong. He must be in _some_ sort of training. A moment of unease passed through Dakuro then faded.

His eyes raised to the man sitting opposite him, taking in the ramrod posture and the coldness of his eyes. _Something had happened..._ Behind him he heard Anna enter the room, the breakfast tray held in the girl's arms and with Nio on her heels,. The bruises had long ago faded from Anna's face. But he suspected that deeper scars had been left on another. _Hmm, _he mused. _Like father, like son._

The smell of food brought his stomach to a turn, and he wondered just when was the last time he had eaten. Yesterday? The day before? Did it truly matter? His chin tipped down slightly and he looked upon the cup that was before him. It was the reflection that caught his eye and he regarded the small image. His face trapped in the black mask, short strands topping his head. After nearly two months of being here, it was growing well, and maybe in the next few months it'll be as long as it was before, if not longer.

His fingers curled around the cup, distorting the image with the touch. Drawing his eyes up, he settled them upon Anna as she neared enough to settle his food down. There was no malice within the gaze, if anything it was simply emotionless; more than it had been when she first saw him. Cold and very calculating. "I would like a sword of my own," he stated abruptly, though softly as his eyes returned to Dakuro. "As exquisite as the one you wield."

_His eyes..._They chilled her as she stepped away from him to sit Master Dakuro's breakfast before him. They were cold, something moving in their depths that she dared not attempt to interpret. Instead she simply turned away, her face set in the expressionless mask of a servant.

His words about the sword grew faint as she bowed and left the room, but they stayed fixed in her mind, playing over and over again. Had she been mistaken, or did it seem as if there was a deeper meaning in his request for a fine sword? He was a new student and she had never witnessed a student receiving a katana like Dakuro wielded. He meant to become a master, or else he would have never requested such a thing.

That night flashed through her memory again, Kito's blow to Erik's groin, Erik's whimper, the jerk of the mask off his head, that _face..._ She shivered and forced herself to focus on the cleaning of the dishes before her.

In the sunroom, Dakuro met Erik's eyes, and narrowed his own. "You wish to own a katana?" he nodded slowly. "It takes months, years, to form and perfect a superior blade. The work is extensive. You should be prepared in that time..." He took a sip of his tea. "There is a smith in the market that you should visit. In the meantime, I will provide you with one of my own." He left it at that, and tucked into his meal.

Months. Erik had months to spare. Even years. It was going to take plenty of time to get the buildings finish; perhaps a year or two, maybe three. He could get them done more quickly, though he wasn't willing to rush the process and end up doing a shoddy job. Tipping the cup he swallowed down a good portion of it then finally nodded when he regarded breakfast. Not truly hungry, but he knew that he had to get something into his stomach before he went back to thesite. Or, if Dakuro wished to, begin their training again after breakfast.

Gathering the sticks that were rested on the side of the bowl, he pulled it closer and sank the tips into the white rice to begin eating. He had noticed Nio entering, though didn't spare her a glance just yet. His mind was elsewhere.

Nio took her seat, and gave a low greeting to her husband who gave a slight nod, only her noticing the brief touch of warmth in his eyes as the lingered on her face. Inwardly smiling she took up her chopsticks and dipped them into her rice, becoming aware of the other man at the table.

Erik sat, silent, eating, his eyes not meeting hers or acknowledging her. She frowned, her eyes narrowing to dark slits. The architect had a great deal of insolence and nerve to show his face after a month of absence. He was a guest in their home. Taking salt at their table, and resting his head in their house. It was a show of utmost disrespect for him to have left without a word. But once again, her husband was accepting of it. Her husband was an accepting man, and she knew it well, even though she'd also seen awesome displays of his rage when provoked.

Swallowing a bite of rice, she frowned and looked down at her food. The rice was uncommonly salty. It was supposed to be sweetened for the morning meal. She looked up, her face glowering and noticed the other two diners mouth were twisting in lines of disgust as well. Slamming down her sticks upon the table, she excused herself, and strode into the kitchen, intent upon giving that fool girl a sound reproof.

He said nothing as the room was exited, simply continued eating. The slight salty taste was different, but it was something he could ignore. He's had worse to eat, anyway. Gruel, rotted food. This would be a meal compared to what he had been fed at the camp in his youth. While he might not have been hungry earlier, the moment he had taken the first few bites, the rest of it was taken in easily.

Kito wasn't present, which pleased him. He truly didn't think he'd be able to refrain from saying something to him. Or maybe doing something to him. Even chopsticks can be dangerous if wielded correctly. For a brief moment he saw the things sticking from the mans throat, and the barest twitch came to his lips. Placing the sticks aside, he picked up the tea pot and slowly poured his cup full as he listened to the sounds around him. To be precise, the sound of Nio's voice that was soon to echo from the kitchen.

In the kitchens, Anna was bent over the sink set into the counters, her hands sunk in the soapy water, cleaning the cast iron pans that she had prepared breakfast in. She was humming quietly, trying to keep her mind off of the horrifying images that had flared through her brain earlier.

Moving to the side she picked up the canister of sugar that she had used for the rice cakes and made to set it back behind her near the ovens. Her eyes widened as she noticed that it was the _salt_ canister. _Oh no._ She'd been so distracted and distraught by her thoughts that she'd added the savory ingrediant rather than the sweet.

Too late she heard the steps behind her and she whirled, receiving a hard smack across her face. "Realized your mistake, have you!" Mistress Nio snapped at her, ripping the canister from her hand and setting it roughly in its place. "Can you do nothing right, you stupid girl! Any idiot would know to read the label!"

Anna lowered her head and accepted the verbal reproaches without a word, her damp eyes fixed on her feet beneath her kimono. When the Mistress had warned her to never make such a stupid mistake again, she left her. Wordlessly, Anna wiped at her tears and went back to her dishes.

By time Nio had returned, Erik was almost finished with his rice and Dakuro was working on his second cup of tea. Raising his eyes slightly, dual colored eyes turned to the woman as she approached her seat, and picking uphis bowl, he gathered the rice off to once side. For several moments he was silent, consuming the last of the simple breakfast, then placing the bowl down he gathered the kerchief and took time to clean off both hisfingers and mouth. "I wonder which is worse," he mused aloud. "Salty rice, or salty and cold rice." He glanced pointedly toward the bowl that laid within Nio's eating spot, then rose his eyes to meet the gaze of the woman.

Nio's obsidian eyes narrowed at Erik as she slid the full bowl of rice over to the side of her place setting. She refused to eat the disgusting stuff. Anna certainly knew better than to serve such slop to her masters. She picked up her chopsticks and lifted one small, dark sausage and ate it, its taste perfect as it should be. When she finished chewing, she raised her eyes back to him. Clearing her throat and taking a sip of her tea, she spoke, her words careful and precise.

"A servant is expected to perform their duties and tasks to perfection each time, Erik. It is a reflection upon the household if the standards are not high and with fault." She ate another sausage. "My guests should never have to eat less than perfect meals." She lowered her eyes and finished her breakfast, feeling a tiny wave of shame as she noticed that her _guest_ had indeed, eaten all of his own meal.

"She is human," he stated matter of factly. "No human is perfect, and in such one cannot expect perfection in every single duty." Taking up a piece of meat, he brought it close and looked it over, then he tucked it into his mouth for a slow crewing. After swallowing, he addressed her again: "Lack of praise for repeated good deeds, and punishment for one missed could cause more, and your level of received perfection may diminish. And while she might be seen as no more than an animal – lets say, a dog – even dogs become recalcitrant and do things half heartedly without a smidgen of praise."

He paused, shrugging slowly. "Salty food is better than none at all." Sweeping the sticks toward her bowl, he tapped them in that direction, his head tipping. "Are you going to eat that?" Was it rude to ask others for their food at the dinner table? He didn't know. He was simply proving a point.

Dakuro sat back, arms crossed over his chest, his own plate empty, the salty rice not enjoyed particularly, but consumed as he would need the nourishment in the training ahead. One brow lifted as he watched his wife's face flush with..._embarassment?_ Had he ever seen Nio embarassed. No, he couldn't recall if he ever had.

He should be furious, Erik was after all insinuating that the way in which they treated their own servant was inappropriate, but he couldn't find any anger within himself. He had found himself thinking different over this last month. The night that Kito and Anna had returned to the house, and he had seen how badly the small woman had been hurt – and he knew by his son's hands – he had found himself sometimes looking at his servant, and seeing her and picturing her as a injured young girl in his memory...

He shook back the thought and watched as his wife wordlessly pushed the rice to his architect's plate. With a half smile, he stood to his feet. "Change and meet me outside when you are finished, Erik." Crossing through the kitchens and out to the gardens, he paused, gave Anna a soft, fatherly pat on her head, crossed to the stables.

He nodded lightly toward Dakuro, then hooking his hand along the side of the bowl, he gave Nio a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Do forgive my impertinence. Though last I recall, your ..boy decided to strike the girl quite harshly, for little reason I might add. Anna is a studious girl from what I have seen thus far. Does she truly need to be struck with every small infraction when she generally does excellently?" He tucked the sticks into the rice, collecting a chunk, and beforehe brought it to his mouth he continued, finishing what he wanted to say before he silenced again.

"I have learned in my time that humans learn faster being told of what they had done wrong, than being beaten for it." _Yes, I know that quite personally, do I not? _His lips pressed together thinly, and he lowered the bowl, suddenly losing his appetite. He would take the bowl with him as he left, though. Just so she wouldn't think thathe threw it away.

Nio sat perfectly still for a while, her eyes fixed on the table before, the wood polished to a rich luster. She recalled many a time that she'd seen Anna huddled over this very table, working wax into the wood furiously until she could have seen her reflection in it. She'd servants before, of course. First at her father's house, then her in her husband's home. Many had done a satisfactory job, a good number had sloughed off on their duties, then been dismissed for their sass and laziness. She'd only ever had one servant who had pleased her in every way and hardly ever made a mistake. And that was Anna. The girl bore up under her punishments well. She never complained. Nio ran one hand over the table's surface, then sat up straighter and met Erik's mismatched gaze.

"She's an obediant girl, I cannot dispute that. She works from dawn to dark every day." She shrugged, making the gesture a little more careless than it really was. "I suppose she is not deserving of her punishments. But ... I cannot control what my son does. I have no authority over him, only my husband, and the boy barely recognizes that." She twisted her lips thinly, then stood, giving a slight bow to her guest. "Enjoy your day, Erik."

And she quietly left, failing to see the twitch at the corner of Erik's mouth.


	28. Facing Demons

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**: Facing Demons

A self-satisfied twitch crossed his lips as Nio left, but never actually made it into a smile.

Cupping the bowl in his palm and sliding the sticks within it, he pressed to a stand and brushed down the silk, letting it all around his ankles. Making his way back to his room, he considered stopping by the kitchen, but decided against it. Sliding back the screen, he closed it behind him and stepped over to his desk to place the bowl upon it. Flipping open his box of pencils, he plucked one free and scrolled down a quick note in French. With the parchment placed over the bowl he turned his attention to getting dressed.

Changing from silk to light cotton, he wrapped the off white kimono about his slender frame, then taking time to place the seven folds of the black hakama he donned it as well. He had been told a little over a month ago that each fold meant something, but never got the chance to ask. Perhaps along with his sword play, his teachings will be returned to as well; he still had plenty to go to perfect kanji and learn of the cultures. The very ones he shunned. 'When in Rome,' Kaleb had told him in a good humored manner, regardless of the disgruntled glance Erik had given him. Collecting his sword he finally made his way out to the chosen training area, sure that Anna would soon clean his room and see the note he had left for her.

In a way he wasn't looking forward to the training. It had been a month since he did so, and his body had to get used to the exercise all over again. Nevertheless, Dakuro was waiting for him, his eyes upon the sky and a thoughtful look upon his face. Keeping his steps quiet as not to disturb the man's contemplation, he practically 'appeared' off near his left side. For a moment he expected the older man to attack, but there was no ill reaction to the slight surprise.

Stepping away from each other they bowed, then in silence began their practice. The both of them seemed to have their mind's split; on whatever it was that plagued them and the fighting. Erik, being more adept at focusing upon many things was able to get more knuckling cracking strikes against his opponent and teacher, much to the older man's chagrin.

As the bamboo cracked against his knuckles for the sixth time, Dakuro grimaced, berating himself for allowing his thoughts to distract him from this invaluable practice. He needed to focus! His concentration was not as hardened and sharp as it customarily was.

There were worries there today, worries that came with this time of year every time. They were dark worries... Dakuro hardly ever let himself think upon them. But he had found this morning that he could not forget them. At the breakfast table, when he had thought about Kito...and about the servant, her battered face that night...the thoughts had come, unbidden. Autumn was now here, the month that Erik had missed had brought them from late summer into fall.

_And at the close of every year_, he wondered, _how would this year go by... the next? Would _he _come? _His knuckles were cracked again, harshly. His eyes flicked to the younger man who seemed lost beneath his own darkness today, but _he_ was focused. Dakuro gritted his teeth, tightened his hold upon the staff, and attacked fiercely, throwing his full capabilities into the practice.

_Plans_. Plans had to be made on just how Erik would spend the last of his time here. Though that could be months or years in the future, he wanted to ensure that all of his pieces were in place, ties were severed and loose ends were tended to. The first of many; Kito. Nothing was going to make him forget that night. The humiliation of not only being struck so dishonorably, but having the horror of his face revealed. He still felt the pain of both. Kaleb had noticed his discomfort and attempted to call a doctor for him, only to be met with a harsh word at every turn. Thin bone could have broken with the viciousness of the attack. Only way he was able to have a doctor come was when Erik was caught in the shrouding haze of opium, trying to dull the pain.

While unconscious he was checked over and tended to. Unable to keep anything from him, the Persian had informed Erik of what happened.. then faced the anger that had came swiftly. One that was bubbling to the surface with each resounding strike leaving even Dakuro's hands to tingle from the sharp vibrations. It was Erik's low snarl that had him realize that the young man's mind wasn't upon the training, and where he was attacking, Dakuro had to swiftly change to defense.

Dakuro quickly sprung back, still agile in his older age, and evaded Erik, shocked to his core at the low, feral snarl that broke loose from the younger man's throat. It became apparent that the architect was not attacking him, but some memory, some dark presence that now stood before him in Dakuro's place.

He was immediately put on the defense, only able to lift his staff, twisting and turning as each fierce strike landed. It was impossible to land even one blow. Erik moved like a young god, his body whipping about furiously as he attacked. Sweat broke out on Dakuro's brow as he caught the raw, murderous gleam in his eyes, the mismatched gaze bright and hungry. He had to put a stop to this. He leaped back, clean out the way, and stilled.

"Stop, Erik!" he bellowed. "I am not he who has wronged you, and if you do not cease, I will break you, boy! Do not challenge me so. Now, put your staff down!" He waited, every evidence written across his face that he had best not be disobyed.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. One second he was trading blow for blow, severely attacking with his own, blinded by hate and rage. Then the next.. he stood only a few feet away, bokken posed for another attack, and an almost blank look within his eyes. Lowering it slowly, he held it at his side, his fingers curled tightly around the hilt. Closing his eyes with heavy breaths, he gave an apologetic bow to him then stiffly stepped away to the bench off at the side of their clearing.

Lowering to a sit, he placed the wooden sword across his lap, both hands wrapped around its width and focused his eyes forward. He needed to get those images out of his mind, though it was difficult when he wondered just how many Kito would have told about his face. Would he have to again go through the pleas of others wanting to see the grotesque beast the shaped mask concealed?

Breathing heavily through his nose, Dakuro returned the bow, set the bokken aside, then crossed to where Erik sat, taking a seat of his own on a bench facing where the younger man sat, the mismatched gaze not meeting his own.

For a moment, neither spoke, but sat, the stillness of the late morning surrounding them, broken only by the lazy buzz of a cricket in the grass. Finally Dakuro lifted his head.

"You have an enemy, Erik. A very grave enemy." He met the gaze of the other man squarely, his tone deadly in its seriousness. If there was anyone who was worthy to be taught the ancient way, it was this man before him. He had much potential in him, incredible strength, and a wealth of intelligence. But that potential would be slowly drowned beneath the blackness that was slowly consuming him from the inside out.

"If you are not careful, if you are not cautious, this enemy will destroy you. Your enemy, Erik, is yourself. Your temper, specifically. If you will permit me...if you are in agreeance, I would like to teach you to overcome that temper, to leash it, and use it effectively, when you _must." _He stood, looking down at him. "I do believe we are done for the day." He gave a very pointed bow, turned and left, unclenching and clenching his reddened fists.

Turning his eyes from the field Erik stared at the back of the man as he departed. What did Dakuro care? Erik was only a foreigner, an outsider. If he was killed by his own anger then that was one less round-eye in the world. Though, still, the words remained in his mind. He knew he had a terrible temper. It had been that way since he was young. It was gained from how the world treated him.

Bringing his gaze forward again he closed his eyes and pulled in a slow, yet deep breath. Mostly calm down, he loosened his hold from the bokken and lifted it from his lap. Pressing to a stand he considered the stables and the prospect of returning to his training of the horse, but he was too mentally and emotionally exhausted to care. Energy still ran through his veins, though he wagered that a scaulding bath and some soothing music would tend to that well enough. Just as silently as he had left the house, he had reentered and made his way to his room.

* * *

While they had fought, Anna busied herself in the kitchens, placing away the dishes and preparing for her other chores. As she worked, she was unusually quiet. It was a normal habit to hum softly as she cleaned, but she simply didn't feel it within her this morning. She was in an quite a state of self-pity, and simply wished to remain that way for a time. 

Erik had finally returned, but she could practically _feel_ the change that had been wrought in him since that dreadful night. She had always felt his silent disapproval and disdain of any others, but now she truly felt as if there was a wall, high and thick separating him from all others.

That face...had changed everything. Changed every way she had thought of him and reacted to him. Just the thought of it, when she allowed herself to picture it, made her shudder. Maybe a bit in revulsion, but perhaps more in fear...certainly in pity. What had he been through because of that face? And how did she convince him not to hold her in as much fear because she had _seen?_

Finishing her duties in the kitchen, she put the last dish away, wiped her hands clean, and moved down the hall to the bedchambers, where she needed to start cleaning.

In the Mistress' bedroom, Anna spread her hands out over the freshly lain bedding, then smoothed the pillows until the corners were crisp and shaped perfectly. Looking about, and assessing that all was as it should be, she left the large room, closing the screen behind her. The old linens were tossed in the hall to be washed and she continued onto Erik's room.

Once there she moved about the chamber quietly, unable to resist taking a deep breath and inhaling his fresh clean scent that lingered in the room. She'd missed such a small, insignificant thing while he'd been gone. The scent was familiar, and even through what had happened, comforting. She ignored the flutter that it set in her stomach and continued to pick up discarded but folded clothing to be washed. She took a peek at the snake to ensure he was quite content in his small basket then moved to the desk, a dirty dish catching her attention.

But there appeared to be a note of some kind lying atop it. Curious she set down the clothing and picked up the parchment.

Haphazard writing crossed the page, a brief message, written in French. With her lessons in mind, she worked each word out in her mind. When she finally did read it, a tiny smile formed on her lips, one corner lifting and her eyes softening. "Eat something. You're getting too skinnny." She glanced to the bowl, which was filled to the brim with white rice, a pair of chopsticks laid across it. She looked down at herself. Her obi had had to be tightened over the last month. With Erik gone and Kito able to do as he pleased, she'd had no peace, and no appetite. Her frame was smaller, it was true.

_He'd noticed_. Why should that make her feel so happy? Why should that cause her spirits to lift? She sighed, then folded the note carefully and reverently, then placed it inside her kimono. She picked up the bowl and the clothes, that same small smile on her face.

* * *

"You are still here." It was a bad habit of his, sneaking up on someone when they least expected it. The opening and closing of his door had been incredibly silent. Loosening the sash, he retied it securely, refusing to get undressed in her presence. Not even if it would be as before with his kimono. He was somewhat surprised that she had lingered, then again.. she probably had just gotten there. 

She whirled with surprise, nearly dropping the bowl of rice all over the clean wooden floor. He remained standing in the doorway, the screen closed behind him. She swallowed then released the pent-up breath that had been captured in her throat. Placing the wooden sword aside, he sought out his bedroll where he lowered to a sit. Lifting his hands his fingers raked over his scalp and through the strands, then exhaled a breath that sound close to a sigh. Pulling up the wide leg of the hakama, he rolled down the sock like zori to slip from his feet and place aside.

"Yes, sir. I've just gotten here." She lifted the clothing, gesturing, then shifted them in her arms. Her heart finally slowed in her chest, and she gazed at him as he sat and removed the zori from his feet. He looked tense, his hair mussed from the raking of his hands, his shoulders set. She'd been able to hear the strike of the bamboo swords from the kitchen; he and Master Kyomi had resumed their practice.

While he looked down, she studied him quietly, trying to picture this man as the same one that she'd seen in that stall a month ago. The face rose in her memory again...she pushed the horror of it away. For now, he was simply Erik.

"I fed your snake while you were gone." She'd only meant it as a passing comment, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, making reference to his absence, she bit her tongue hard. She cast about for something to say. Her eyes landed on the bowl of rice in one hand. "Thank you for the rice. It was very kind of you."

_Kind.. _"I was not going to eat it, and there is no sense in wasting food," he stated curtly and with the second zori removed he splayed his toes. Scratching the top of one foot he adjusted his weight and languidly laid along his side. At first he had been unwilling to look upon her, but eventually he turned his head to meet her gaze, almost expecting he to flinch at the rememberance of that night. Studying her quietly he dropped theside of his head to a bent arm and yawned; a gesture made more from some form of comfort than of fatigue.

She made a small _'oh'_ of understanding, then shifted the bundles in her arms again. She looked up and found him gazing at her, studying her. She met his gaze, and under his eyes, she forgot about the face, as if it didn't even exist to her. But it hadn't lasted long.

As he laid down on his side, she bit her lip, then crossed the room warily to his side and sunk down beside him, her on the floor, he on his bedroll. For what seemed an eternity, she didn't speak, but sat, silently staring down at her bundles. Carefully she set them aside, then twisted her fingers in the folds of her kimono. Finally she spoke.

"I just ... I ... wanted you to know ..." She stopped and drew a breath, then continued. "That I'm sorry ... for what happened ... that night." She swallowed. "If I had not shown disrespect to Kito earlier ... what happened ... would have never happened." She finally raised her eyes and met his gaze. "I'm sorry that you were hurt." She did not mention whether that hurt was the physical or the emotional.

Cracking open his eyes he turned them to her. She apologized for something she couldn't stop? Kito would have gone after her then or at a later time, it didn't matter to that boy. He regarded her in his usual silence, giving nothing away within his eyes or the set of his thin lips. Though.. he was curious. And even a bit taken off guard by the fact that she was.. _still_ there. His eyes narrowed slightly, but only from the furrowing of hisbrows beneath the mask. "Nothing I am not used to," he finally stated, coolly. From the sound of it nearly getting his pelvis bone snapped and having his mask ripped off was a normal thing. Close, but not quite.

_Nothing I am not used too..._ What kind of life had he led? Lowering her gaze, she nodded, unable to speak anymore. And his cool, curt tone told her in very few words that he didn't wish to discuss it any further. Or that he didn't wish her company any longer. Afterall...she was a reminder of that night. And it had been her fault.

With horror she realized her eyes were stinging, and she stood quickly, bent and retrieved the bowl and clothing. Not meeting his eye, she forced herself to speak over the knot in her throat, her voice thick.

"Please let me know if you need anything, Erik. I'll go straight away and draw you a bath." She looked down pushing some loose strands of her hair from her face. "I'll make you a pot of tea as well." She moved to the door quickly, but paused and turned back. "It's good to have you here again," she said softly, then left in a rush.

That was becoming a habit. Left alone, save with her lingering words, his brows dipped deeper, utterly confused. Perhaps he had jumped to a conclusion when it came to how she was going to react to him from then on. She wasn't avoiding him like the plague, she spoke nothing of what was beneath the mask, and she only seemed mildly bothered. Licking his lower lip he shook his head slightly and closed his eyes again, trying to relax andfree himself of the tension that flowed through every muscle. Breathing out a faint sigh he rubbed the back of his neck slowly, then left his palm upon the slope. Kneading the skin and muscle beneath he listened to the sound of the birds outside, and soon the sloshing of carried water.

She moved carefully back into his room, the buckets of near scalding water shushing softly against the wood. She was aware of him, still upon his bedroll, but said no more to him. She was coming to realize that she often said more than she should, an old habit of hers.

It was of no benefit to him if she continually reminded him of that night, either through telling him of her relief that he was back or through apologizing. And most likely she was apologizing for things which he had no desire to hear. She only hoped that those horrific moments could be forgotten over time. That Kito would never mention it again or taunt about it, that Erik would come out of this fortress of ice he had built around himself, and that she could perhaps learn to pretend that there was nothing out of the ordinary under that mask...

She pulled herself from such thoughts and poured his bathwater, being careful of the sleeves of her kimono. She left the soaps for him, then stood and faced him, crossing her hands in front of her. "Would you prefer dark or green tea, sir?"

Slowly cracking his eyes open he turned his head to look over to her, thoughtfully. "Surprise me," he finally stated and closed his eyes again, tiredly. Physically exhausted, his mind was running over too many things for him to gain any proper rest should he decide to nap. Adjusting his weight he laid upon his back and draped an arm across his stomach while the other remained tucked behind his neck. He almost appeared to befalling to sleep – if not already so – though if there was something she knew about him, it was to never take his appearance lightly. In more ways than one.

At his 'Surprise me,' one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile, despite the heavy atmosphere that had lingered in the room earlier. Giving him a nod, which he didn't see as he laid down upon his back, she left the room, sliding the screen quietly behind her. With the empty buckets in her hands, she moved back down the hallway, shifting her eyes about as she went.

She knew that Kito hadn't made an appearance since Erik had returned, and she wondered the reason for that. Was he afraid? Had he expected that after the despicable things he had done to Erik, that the man wouldn't return? During the last month, he had been especially taunting and cruel, teasing her that her 'hideous protector' would never dare to show his face again...

The thought of Kito cowering at some friend's house, fearful of retribution was a welcome and satisfying thought. Erik was not the only one who had suffered from that night. Her cheek was now scarred from the savage blow Kito had given her; just a tiny scar that bisected her cheek beneath her eye. She didn't care that her skin was marred, but it was a constant reminder of her position. She shook her head, muttering under her breath and went to prepare the tea.

Alone and listening to the silence of the room, broken now and again by the faint sounds of the birds outside, he sought to rid of his growing boredom before he became irritable due to it. He considered drawing, though wasn't willing to get up and search for his parchments. Carving seemed a good idea, though putting a knife in his hand at this point and time was going to result in the slitting of a thick throat. It was the least compromising of his many other choices that he settled for, and reaching out, long fingers curled into the handle of the violin's case. Pulling it close he opened it and removed the violin.

Checking upon the strings, ensuring that it hadn'tbeen tampered with while he was gone, he was satisfied to note that wasn't the case. Unable to play laying down, he eased up to a sitting position, and tucking the violin beneath his chin he hunched his shoulders comfortably before he began playing the first thing that came to mind; something random and unwritten. Melodic as bird song, soft as the Autumn breeze.


	29. Dirty Little Secrets

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: **Dirty Little Secrets

With the kettle of green tea boiling upon the stove, Anna left the kitchen to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. The weather was beginning to cool somewhat. The air now contained a crispness, a promise of snow that she always enjoyed. Autumn was her favorite time of year in this country. Soon the gentle rolling hills and the flares of the mountains surrounding the small village would turn gold and scarlet with the season's changes.

Looking about, she noticed that none of the household was out and about, so she sat, sinking down upon the steps. Leaning forward, she placed her chin in her hands, and closed her eyes slowly, allowing the peace of the afternoon to sink into her weary bones.

Even though her life here was less than ideal, and she truly was alone in this land, there was a beauty about this country that she couldn't help but admire and make her be grateful that it was her home. Japan was a place of tradition, ancient customs, and a sense of purpose. She lifted her eyes opened slowly and looked about, the breeze stirring up loose strands of her hair. _Do I have a purpose here?_

Scoffing softly, she reached down and idly toyed with the hem of her kimono. Over the breeze, floating along with it, came the soft weeping of a violin, filtering through the air, quiet in its beauty. She closed her eyes again and smiled softly, tilting her head to the side and resting it upon her shoulder. She had missed that so much...

She breathed in deeply, and hoped nothing would disturb this rare and precious moment of peace and contentment of her.

After a month of being away from the instrument, he had found just how much he missed it with the first straining notes. He could have played all night if he wished, though the longer he held the violin, the more his arm was beginning to ache from prior exertion. Instead of hours, it was only half of one that he had played, and with a slow sigh he lowered the violin to its case. With his bath prepared, the thought of soaking away his pains sounded like a good one. She was taking a while with his tea, but he wasn't going to rush her. It took time, and he could live without the drink.

Pressing up to a slow stand he stepped to the dividing screen and sloughed off the kimono. Placing it upon the edge of the screen, he went about loosening both sash and the wide legged pants. Absently he regarded the difference between the clothes here and those in Persia. Just as flowing, but the material wasn't as rich.

The cease of the music brought her out of the nap she had drifted into, her head still lolled over onto her shoulder. She sat up, wincing at the stiffness of her neck, and blinked about, the afternoon's sunshine suddenly a bleary green with the sleep still in her eyes.

But a smile crossed her face as she stretched out her arms, and arched her back, the fine muscles along each side of her spine stretching out. The nap the music had sent her into had done her good. She felt rested even.

Standing slowly to her feet, she turned back into the house. The fierce shriek of the tea kettle nearly scared her out of her wits as she entered the house. _Anna, you twit!_ She took off running and lifted the kettle off of the stove, its handle nearly scalding her. She lifted the lid and took a sniff, making sure it hadn't scorched, but it merely smelled extraordinarily strong. She set up the delicate tea service and carried it to his room quickly, mindful of the unusually elevated temperature of the tea.

The heat of the water was a welcoming sensation, and he lounged comfortably within it. Tipping his head against the back of the basin, he sank deeper where the curve of his chin nearly touched the water. All had been stripped save for the mask. That was one thing he was never going to take off, not even in the false comfort of his own room.

Yawning, he crossed his arms over his stomach and turned his head to one side. The sun was slowly making its descent, and he was looking forward to the night. Only then would he truly find some form of peace. _Perhaps I shall take the horse out of his stable tonight, _he thought to himself, then closed his eyes with a slow exhale of breath.

Anna knocked upon the screen, then slid it open, carrying his tray of tea into the room. She cast one quick glance over at the screen placed in front of the basin. She could hear the soft lap of water, and his yawn, and knew he was in his bath.

She didn't call out to him, knowing that he often stayed in for long periods, and most likely slept within the tub at times. At his low desk, she looked down at the surface, then carefully rolled up some of the parchments spread there, twisting gently until they were in slim rolls. She set them gently down by the desk, then set the tray upon its surface, and arranged the lemons and tea, pouring him a cup to have ready when he left the bath.

As she was setting the cup upon the saucer, she heard a screen shut hard within the house, then heard Kito bellow her name. The cup in her hand trembled, spilling out tea upon her hand, and she hissed softly at the pain, but quickly finished setting up the tray, then scurried from the room, without bidding a farewell to Erik. If Kito was only just know coming back, then he didn't know that Erik had returned.

He had been resting peacefully, until the loud voice of the boy had echoed through the house. Cracking his eyes open slowly, he drug in a breath then exhaled it sharply with a disgruntled mutter. Finally climbing from the water and taking up his towel to dry, he wrapped it around the sharp, jutting curves of his hips then took down his kimono. His eye caught upon the tea immediately and, stepping close, he gathered the small cup within his fingers to tip to his lips and sip.

Pulling it away from his mouth he curiously regarded the cup, as if it had bitten him. That tea..was strong. A moments pause, a shrug, and he returned to drinking while pushing an arm through the sleeve of the top. Switching hands and repeating the process, the cloth was belted closed. Near ankle length, he didn't have to worry over replacing the hakama. Truth be told, he had no desire to go through the pleating process. As he drank, he listened carefully to the voices outside of his room.

Bellowing for Anna, Kito stepped into the house, then slammed the screen shut behind him. He kicked off his sandals with negligence and strode across the hall, lifting off his satchel, and tossing it into the open screen of his room. _Stupid girl, doesn't she know when to come at her master's call?_

He stopped and looked into the kitchens, lifting his lips in a sneer when he didn't see her within. He had just gotten back from a night spent with friends in town, and his head was pounding from the late hours of whoring and drinking. He needed a bath, then a long sleep.

His irritation grew as he could not find the little twit. Shirking on her duties? He'd have to see about that! He grinned, satisfied, as he looked out into the gardens for her. Ever since that _freak_ had turned tail and ran after having his disgusting face revealed, Kito had pretty much enjoyed the unrestrained behavior he'd always indulged in before. There was no one here for his father to compare him to, no one to usurp his authority... That thing was gone and he couldn't be happier. The face rose in his mind, along with the sensation of a belt knotted about his throat. It was impossible to slake a shudder of bone-deep fear. He was happier in more ways than one.

Finally he spotted Anna's small form hurrying toward him from Erik's room. With a roll of laughter, he called out to her down the hall. "In there touching his things again? Like a little fool who can't let go of the past?" He stalked toward her and grabbed her arm and hauled her off in the direction of the kitchens to draw his water.

"Face it, Anna. That monster you're so in love with isn't coming back! I made sure of that!" At her terrified expression, he burst out laughing again and dragged her into the kitchen.

The exuberant proclamation of his disappearance brought an ill humored smile to his lips. He made sure of him being gone, did he? Unable to resist the chance of seeing Kito gawk, he donned the last of his clothing as well as his odori as he planned to take a trip through the gardens. He had come to find out that those boot like socks were actually rather comfortable, if not a bit awkward with the way the largest toe was split from the others.

Quietly exiting his room, he slid the door behind him and listened for the voices to steadily follow them. From what it sounded like, they were making their way toward the kitchen. Tucking his hands behind him with the back of one cupped in the palm of the other, a languid stride lead him in that direction.

With Kito's hand wrapped like an iron band around her upper arm, Anna didn't fight him, but followed meekly at his side, her head lowered as she continued to poke fun at her, teasing and mocking her for the absence of her 'friend'.

"You and I get along fairly well, when that corpse isn't here, Anna." He looked her up and down, a sneer on his fat lips. "No one to interfere." He reached out his opposite hand and slid it down her throat as he turned her in the kitchen pressing her back against the kitchen counter. She shuddered in disgust, and wriggled away, and he let her. Quickly, she rushed over to the hot water supply and began filling buckets for his bath, her hands trembling as she did so.

Part of her wanted very much to turn about and point out to him that that room was occupied once more, but caution and fear of what might happen if he decided to call her bluff kept her silent. Erik had still been in his bath when she had left the room. She remembered all too well the sight of Erik dropping to his knees after Kito driving his fist between his thighs. She felt herself whiten at the image of what he could do if Erik was naked and defenseless. So she kept silent, wearily listening to Kito go on and on about how he had made sure he'd never have to worry about anyone interfering in his business again.

She turned, buckets in hand, and froze at the sight of Erik in the doorway, fully dressed, looking on as Kito continued to make an ass out of himself.

"...especially that ugly little creature." Kito sneered, appearing to have lost some steam. Either that, or he was planning on going again. Deja vu; Erik's voice came from behind him. "Come now. You are no rose yourself, you realize. Did your mother ever tell you that if you do not have something nice to say, then do not say it at all?" So casual, his voice, though it was devoid of the joviality that the words should have had.

The boy might have gotten the upper hand once, but that was the only advantage he was going to gain, ever. This time Erik was prepared for any altercation, either by being armed himself, or using one of the numerous objects within the kitchen. He would be quick to use a skillet to his advantage and definitely attempt to shove the thing down Kito's throat.

Drawing close to the sink, he lowered the delicate cup almost daintily within the basin then turned completely toward the larger man with a kind smile. The type a panther might give before going for the jugular. "My, I must wonder if you missed me enough for almost every sentence out of your mouth to be about me. Affected more by that hit than I was, were you?"

Kito's sneer froze on his broad face, and he turned, moving like an automaton, toward the doorway. Despite his bravado of earlier, despite his mockery of the other man, who he had believed had taken his worthless hide off for good, despite his bragging to Anna about how he had scared that hideous thing off, fear, icy and sickening, ran down his spine.

Erik stood there, the mask in place, and all traces of the sniveling corpse from that night were gone. One amber eye and one blue-green eye bore into his own, the visible lips and chin set in a kind smile.

For a moment, Kito wondered if he might be sick, so sudden was the fear. A memory of being strangled returned, his air completely cut off, his lungs starved for oxygen. But following that chill of fear came the familiar rage, burning low in his gut and spreading outward at the other man's mocking, insulting words.

"I'm surprised you can even stand after that blow, _Erik._" He leaned back against the counter and cast a look over his shoulder at Anna, who was motionless, her face almost comical in its wide eyed state. "No woman would ever want you before with that face. Now you most likely cannot even be a _man _in the only way that you _are_ human." He grinned, waiting for that grave insult to sink in and find its mark.

Instead, it veered wide, striking _nothing_.

Erik brushed off the insult, not even letting it faze him. It wasn't those words that had his eyes narrow within the shaped slots of the mask, but something else entirely. A pantherine prowl took him closer to the man, and his smile only seemed to become crueler as his voice lowered. "I grow immensely tired of you badgering the girl, Kito. What, cannot take your aggressions out upon the one who has evoked them? I am here now. Do it. But do not think me so foolish as before."

Tipping his head to the side, dual colored eyes locked to the darker ones of Kito's and he finally stilled, no more than five feet in front of him. "I am quite sure you recall the feel of my belt wrapped about your throat, choking the very life from your lungs. I wonder if you have ever imagined what it would feel like to get your throat severed by a length of fine cat gut. Maybe if I yank hard enough it would cut clean through your larynx, the muscle and your neck bone alike." Every word was cool and calculated, as if he was speaking of the weather.

Or was it a dissection in this case?

"Did you know that the eyes can see for thirty seconds after the head is removed from the body, Kito? Perhaps I shan't use a rope this time. Perhaps the cut of a blade is more deserving?" One brow lifted behind the mask, even if it wasn't seen and he shifted the cloth of the sleeve just enough for a portion of the leather wrapped bracer to be revealed.

"Leave. The. Kitchen." Each word had its own pregnant pause, and sharp threat behind it.

Bile rose in Kito's throat, burning its way up from his stomach, as he stared up into those chilling mismatched eyes. They seemed to fill his vision, just as the image of his neck being severed and his head snapping from his body did. He _could_ feel that belt again, but this time, he allowed himself the imagination to picture what would happen if that belt had been replaced by the weapon Erik spoke of...He thought he might very well vomit.

Behind him he heard Anna's low whimper and felt a similar reaction to the knowledge this foul thing imparted to him about the eyes. His stomach rolled low in his gut. The fury that had possessed him before was replaced by a very real terror that threatened to choke him alive. He suddenly realized how very tall Erik was, and remembered the strength he possessed that night. That face flashed through his mind, sickening in its hideousness and foul appearance. _Monster..._

Rationality returned, as soon as he looked down and saw the thin straps of leather wrapped about Erik's bony, corded forearm. _The cut of a blade..._ How dare he threaten him in his own home! But he was more than aware of the girl behind him, and his family deeper within the house. _Now was not the time_.

With a curl of his lips as if he smelled some distasteful, he shoved past Erik, making his way to the door.

Nonplused, he stepped aside, brushing down the sleeve, which again concealed his hand as he loosely clasped his wrists. Raising his chin he smiled toward Anna. "Oh, and Kito?" He paused a moment, listening to the abruptly ceased movement of the boy behind him. "Touch her again and you will come to know that a scorpion is not the most dangerous thing that can find you in your sleep."

Moving from his spot, Erik stepped further into the kitchen to check if there had been more tea prepared. Of course he didn't expect any, he only came into the kitchen to place fear back into that boy's breast. "You were cooking dinner?", he asked, glancing toward her, then he brought his eyes to the doorway, almost expecting Kito to return with a vengeance.

Anna waited, frozen, her hands wrapped around the steaming buckets of water she carried. Her eyes remained fixed upon Kito's frame in the doorway, _knowing_ that he would whirl about any minute and strike. But he didn't. His body stiff and his wide shoulders set, he left, without looking back. The confrontation was over. There would not be a repeat of that horrific violence that she'd had to witness that night.

She broke down. The buckets fell out of her now limp hands, but landed on their heavy bottoms, only sloshing just a bit. She pressed one hand to her mouth, and turned away, stifling a sob low in her throat.

_Oh God!_ She thought she might be ill. The horrific images that Erik's words has brought to her mind felt burned there, into her brain. She pictured her parents, their heads nearly lolling from their bodies. _They had been able to see..._The thought was too much.

She shut her eyes tight against the flood of tears that that realization brought. _How did he know such things? _The weapon he had spoken about...

_He had killed…_That phrase became a mantra in her brain.

Erik remained completely oblivious to her plight, and for the moment only seemed interested in seeing if there was any food or tea set out. Finding neither, he finally turned his head around to see what that noise was. The buckets were upon the floor and she looked as if she was ready to keel over.

Brows lowered and a subtle frown settled before it was smoothed over. "Anna..?" _That boy hadn't severely harmed her, did he? No, he couldn't have._ She seemed just fine just moments ago when he was watching the two. Shifting his weight to face her, he stepped closer, curious as to what was wrong. An odd thing. An hour prior there had been an icy wall built so thick around him that it would take an eternity to get through.

Anna took several breaths, her body shuddering, then finally straightened at the questioning way her name was spoken. She knotted her hands together, her fingers gripping each other so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She finally raised her eyes to his, blinking through the tears that burned there.

"I'm fine," she whispered hoarsely. She stared up into his eyes for a long moment searching for...she didn't even know. The coldness and raw hatred that had been there only moments was now gone, replaced by...concern? It was impossible to tell with him. He stood not far from her, closer than she could remember him being to her in a very long time. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted, but she hadn't dared lay a hand on him since his return. He seemed too cold, too shielded.

_Touch her again..._The words she had been too horrified to listen to suddenly rose in her mind. _Touch her again..._She knew, knew to her core, that he had killed. And that if Erik learned of Kito harming her again, that he wouldn't hesitate to kill him either. She didn't know whether to feel safe...or horrified.

She stated she was fine, though she didn't _look_ fine. He straightened, nodding once, then turned around to move away from her and out of the kitchen all together. He had his bath, and his tea for the evening, now he had to find something to occupy the rest of his time. He had thought about going out into the garden, perhaps even riding Noko, but those things seemed almost droll now.

With the adrenaline going through his veins he needed something more exciting to do. Pulling in a slow breath he decided upon the latter nevertheless.

Making a detour, he exited the house and traveled toward the stables, regardless of the fact that even being within that building roused a venomous hatred. The reminder of that night was far too strong. Nudging the doors open, he made his way over to the supplies and collected the items he needed. First a soothing brushing of the stallion, then he would saddle the animal and ride.

In the kitchens, Erik now gone, Anna finally was able to breathe normally again. She closed her eyes, then leaned down, and picked up the buckets of hot water. Kito would still be wanting that bath...

Despite Erik's threats, and Kito's inaction, she knew that she still was wise in not showing her impudence to her youngest Master again. As she carried the buckets to his room, and stepped inside after being admitted by Kito's strained voice, she realized something that made her ache inside as much as it chilled her.

_She was afraid of Erik_.

She had always had respect for him, and wary respect at that. But had she ever truly been afraid of him? She was now. The violence he'd spoken with, the utter callous way he'd spoken of taking another's life. She still felt the horror of the images that had risen in her mind.

As she poured the water in the basin, her hands shook. How had she ever had the gall touch him, to allow herself be comfortable with him? She had always spoken so freely with him, always enjoyed her time with him. _He had killed._ Her parents flashed again, burning in her memory. _He was a murderer_.

And she could never forget it.


	30. Monster To Man

**Chapter Thirty:** Monster To Man

By time he had returned to the house the sun had descended beyond the horizon and he still wasn't eased. Noko was bathed in sweat, his muscles twitching and mouth lightly frothing from how swiftly he was taken across the field. He needed water, and Erik needed solace.

Draped along the stallions back, his masked cheek pressed against the thick neck and coarse mane, he watched the scenery pass from a half lidded gaze as the horse walked itself to the stable, following its instincts of 'home.' Even when the stallion stood still in the middle of the stable Erik didn't move, only blankly watched Muran as she gnawed upon the stalks of straw and grasses that was left over in her trough.

It wasn't adrenaline plaguing him now, but something more. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It both irritated and bothered him. Exhaling slowly he turned, slipping off of the saddle and landed soundlessly upon his feet, then proceeded to remove the saddle and blanket. The sweat was easily enough taken care of, as well as the horses thirst, and once he brushed him down again with slightly cooled bristles, Erik sent the horse back to its stall to drink.

The house was dark, though he knew that didn't mean everyone would be sleeping. He looked upon it quietly, studying the structure as he made his way back toward the gardens, then turning his eyes to the lightly pebbled path he brought a low hum to his throat as he blindly wandered toward the gardens.

After preparing the evening meal, drawing baths for the family, and then cleaning the kitchens from top to bottom, Anna was worn to her very bones. Her body ached. Her heart ached even more.

Why had she been forced to discover this horrible knowledge? For weeks now, she had seen Erik as a enigmatic, sometimes intimidating, but drawing man. Now, in one afternoon, that had all changed. She didn't know if she still felt drawn to him, couldn't say. But she did know that she could never be as open with him as before, never be at ease. Not knowing..._You don't know the circumstances_.

That little voice mocked her. No, she didn't know all.

She was so confused!

Shaking her head, she made her way to the pond in the dark, the moonlight marking her path. She'd obtained permission to bathe from the Mistress. She needed the quiet peace of the pond now, needed the shocking cold of the water. At the bank, she shrugged out of her robe, let her hair down and stepped in, gasping with the cold. She chilled instantly, but ducked her head underwater, letting herself get used to the frigid temperature.

The soft sound of rippling water was lost upon Erik's heavily weighted mind. Sorting out his thoughts was proving to be a difficult thing. He recognized what one of the feelings was; a sense of nomadic longing, of wanting to be away from just one place. He always had that displeasure once something drastic had happened.

The unmasking was enough to strike up that wanderlust again, and now was overly restless.

Leaning, he gathered a smooth stone then turned his attention toward the pond, ready to cast the rock across its surface, though he found a head and a partial torso in his way. Lowering his arm he smoothed his thumb across the stone and looked upon it quietly.

She didn't avoid him now, even apologized about what had happened; taking the blame all for herself. He should, at least, make the effort to be civil. _Even if it is while she's bathing_, he thought dryly with a light twisting of his lips. Shrugging a shoulder he approached the pond.

She rose from the water, shaking her head back, and wiped the water from her eyes, then slowly opened them, her face scrunched up until she could see.

The first thing she saw was _Erik_.

Silently, she lowered her eyes, and sunk back down into the water. It was hard to swallow for a moment, but she found the saliva to do it, and raised her eyes again, she watched him quietly as he took his seat by her robe, his long legs folded comfortably.

For a long moment she didn't speak, but only studied him in the moonlit darkness. He was dressed for riding, his clothing mussed and slightly filthy. It was movement that drew her eyes, and she lowered them, settling them upon his thumb as it smoothed over the stone he held. Slowly, methodically. That same strange sensation settled in her lower stomach, fluttering there for a moment, then settling deep inside, warming her. Along with that sensation was still the fear and the unease.

Finally, she reached up, one hand curling about one of her bare shoulders, smoothing in the chilly smatterings of water there.

"Hello, Erik," she said softly into the quiet night air.

"Hello, Anna," he responded with little to no hesitation. Addressed, he lifted his eyes from the stone he was smoothing a divot into – or at least trying to – and lifted his eyes to the water. Momentarily he regarded it, only to turn his eyes to her. "I do not know how you do it. Though I suppose you are used to the chill by now."

He was at one point and time, when he was allowed to bathe, and since then he had been subjected to warm or hot water. Never did he wish to return to that life of poverty, and after his trip to Persia, he was never going to. That particular journey had proven to be fruitful.

Pausing within the thumb's stroke, he tipped his head to the side. "Perhaps I have come at an inopportune time?" Calm, utterly calm. Or at least it appeared that way. He was still housing excess energy, something he tried to expend with that renewed rubbing. It wasn't working.

In the dim moonlight, her damp cheeks reddened, and she bit her lip. The moment was awkward, there was no doubt of that. She felt exposed ... vulnerable, but yet ... safe at the same time. He confused her in so many ways, Erik did. She didn't know whether to jump from the pond and run, or to stay and let her eyes drink in the sight of his familiar form, one she had missed so much during his absence.

She lowered her eyes and watched the smoothing of that stone once more. His hands were skeletal, harsh looking, and had known violence. But she also knew that they could be gentle, as evidenced during the very few times he had touched her. He was a contradiction and a mystery, but she one she couldn't help but be drawn to.

She shrugged one shoulder from the water lightly. "I suppose I have grown used to it over time. I've _only_ had cold baths for fifteen years."

She lifted one corner of her mouth slightly. "For the first few years, I always became dreadfully ill in the winter. But after so long, I ... hardened, I suppose." She hesitated for a moment, then swam to the bank and reached for her soap, and began rolling it between her hands, then working the lather over her arms.

"One can become used to anything over time if exposed to it enough."

How ironic she would say something of that nature. As he looked upon her he found that he didn't have the same initial shock, or the heated ache that had seeped into his veins. Did she have no reaction upon him what so ever? Some of that lingering energy was evoked by her presence in her current state.

An awkward thing, to say the least.

Glancing down to her hand as she took a hold of the soap, he paused briefly in the passing of his thumb, then began absently flipping the stone end over end. "Yes, how very true that is," was the only answer he gave to that statement. Adjusting his weight he leaned back upon a hand and locked his elbow to keep himself comfortably braced. "Kito has proven to be pleasant for the rest of the evening?"

With a soft snort she lowered herself further into the water, and continued to pass the soap over the rest of her body to bathe completely.

"He has not spoken to me since, not even to order his evening bath." In fact, he'd even avoided looking at her, though she had felt keenly the barely controlled anger seething from him. All night long, he had sat, jaw clenched, hands fisting, releasing, then fisting again. He'd unnerved her badly when she'd shown up in his room with his bath water and soaps, the ones he hadn't requested but she'd brought out of obedience anyway. He'd stood over her, silent, until she'd left the room. She'd only felt that she could breathe again until she had entered the hallway.

"He is angry. He doesn't take humiliation well." She tossed the soap back upon the bank, the arched her neck and back, getting her hair thoroughly soaked so she could wash it as well. She winced slightly at the pain in her shoulders from her workload, and he glanced over upon hearing her.

"He has been used to getting his way in all things lately. Your return is certainly not a welcome event to him."

Thin shoulders lifted then fell, uncaring. "All good things must come to an end, including being fed with a silver spoon." Lowering the stone to his side he gathered the soap in the coil of his fingers and leaned forward slightly to dip it and his hand into the water.

"Come.." He did his best to ignore the arch of her neck and raise of her chest. Thankfully the water did well to conceal her modesty. "Turn your back to me." Lathering his hands, he placed the bar down again and slowly exhaled. _What in heavens name are you doing?_ He couldn't answer that question, at least not immediately.

He could only arrive to one conclusion; she had kneaded away his tension, would it not be even if he did the same?

For what seemed like forever, she didn't move, but only stared at his hands, lathered up with her soap. She sucked lightly on her bottom lip until she could taste blood, then finally moved to the bank before him and turned, letting her hair fall back down her back.

In the water, her hands shook slightly, but she stilled their movement by pressing them to the curve of her lower stomach, where that heated sensation had resumed its fluttering. Never had she expected that he would willingly want to touch her. Not just to touch her, but help her in such a way. _Such an _intimate _way_.

But she ignored that voice. Just as she ignored the fear and the uncertainty. She realized, slowly and with clarity, that she _wanted_ him to touch her. No one ever touched her, unless it was to harm her...

She released the pent up breath and finally pressed her backside against the pond's wall.

The soft garden breeze coasted against her shoulders for several minutes, and just as she had taken eternity to move, so did he.

He dampened his lower lip absently, then after doing the same to his hands with a bit of water as the soap became just a bit too dry, he tucked his hand along the side of her hair, using the back of it to press it away and drape it over a shoulder.

"Where does it hurt most," he questioned softly, and it wasn't until she had lifted her hand to indicate did spidery fingers finally lower to her skin. Almost as cool as the gentle wind, the skin immediately began sapping a bit of warmth from her own.

Encompassing the lower of her neck's side with one hand, the other rested not too far from her shoulder's curve, and the balls of his thumbs pressed firmly, but not painfully, into the muscle, testing its give. A breath he hadn't been aware of holding was slowly exhaled and his throat was moistened by a steady swallow.

At the first touch of his thin, cool fingers, she shivered slightly, but not from the cold. Her skin was sensitive, barely knowing any other touch but her own. Sensation shot from the places where his fingers touched and spread down her limbs. A breath shuddered out of her, her eyes tightly shut, and she bit her lip again, tugging at it with her teeth as he firmly pressed into her neck and shoulder.

One of his long hands nearly surrounded her throat, and she was more than aware of the strength in that hand and how he could clench that hand and do her serious injury. But it was gentle, beginning to work at an ache that she had carried on her shoulders for years now without relief.

Behind her, she felt his slow exhale, his breath brushing over her damp shoulders. That sensation, coupled with the very pleasant press into painful muscles, and just the touch of his hands made her sigh very softly in the back of her throat.

Her skin was so soft, and with the soap on his fingers it felt smoother. Tilting his head to the side, he glanced to her profile, then dropped his eyes to his hands again as he shifted his weight, leaning forward a bit more than he was already.

There was no need to question about where the pain resided, he could feel it with every press of his fingers. Where the taut muscle wasn't as painfully tense as his own could be, there was still plenty of tension that he worked to soothe away. His fingers came into play, pinching and kneading at the curve of flesh and muscle caught within the webbing of his thumbs, and sliding his hands closer to her neck, he began massaging the next section, smoothing out the knots found beneath his thumbs.

He kept his breathing calmed enough, though it was his heart that thundered within his ears. There was a subtle nervousness lingering behind the rapid beat, and something more that he recognized almost immediately. The same that had reared its ugly head and howled when he first saw her in the pond. The edges of his pinky and ring fingers tucked lightly beneath her jaw and he urged her chin in an upward tilt.

Anna moved with him as he rubbed her shoulders and neck, curving her body into his hands, adjusting to the motions of his fingers.

The long thin hands on her were slowly easing the pain, even as it caused her a new pain to begin pulsing through her. But she was oblivious to what that pain meant, pushing aside the dangers she knew lay in such a feeling. She only let herself enjoy his touch and the intimate press and knead of his fingers, the tensed muscles underneath relaxing bit by bit.

Every deep press and rotate into her flesh brought a rush of pleasure through her. And then his hands were on her neck, and the skin there began to burn slightly with sensation as his touch was felt. She gave another soft, shuddering sigh of pleasure as he compelled her into tilting her chin upward to him.

Moistening her lips, she hummed low as she obeyed.

Distractedly rubbing the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he let his fingers splay over the curve of her shoulder, and cupping the side of her throat he curled his hand along the front, just enough where he could gain a subtle grip. It allowed his thumb to press ever firmly into the curving muscle between neck and shoulder.

Once that side was done, he gathered her hair to press it over the other shoulder, leaving traces of lather upon the loose strands. Wetting his hands and taking up the soap, he returned the thickness of suds to his fingers, and with only a little hesitation, his touch was brought back to her skin after he set the bar aside.

This was all too awkward, and while this contact was uncomfortable, it wasn't _completely _unpleasant. Pressing a few clinging strands aside, he cupped either side of her neck and rolled his thumbs along the nape in deep, kneading grinds.

She gasped softly as he began kneading her nape, wincing for a moment with the pain of the knots there being grinded upon by his thumbs. Her whole body tensed, her neck arching slightly against the pressure.

Then slowly the pain receded, and the contact became something to be savored. She could actually feel the muscles loosening and relaxing, easing. She bowed her head, curving her neck into his hands, seeking more.

Inwardly, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears. That little, devious version of her voice was taunting her. _It feels good, doesn't it? You want this, you're enjoying his touch! _And God help her she was, and not just because he was easing her aches.

Each touch was going straight through her, each brush and press of his fingers and hands pleasurable. She was abandoning all reason, completely oblivious to her fear, to her earlier worries, to her hesitancies.

As he worked, she moaned gently, unconsciously, low in her throat, then felt her face grow red at what she had done.

Erik froze completely. His thumbs remained hovered upon the back of her neck for only seconds longer before he slowly pulled his hands away. Pain. That's what he knew at that moment. An indescribable pain that shot straight from his stomach to lower, leaving a maddening burn in its path.

Exhaling a ragged breath he moistened his lips slowly, and dropped his hands into the water to scrub off both the soap and the tingling sensation that was within his palms. That sound.. that _damnable _sound. It was an oddity, having a heated flush as well as a cold chill course across his skin.

He didn't trust his voice at the time, and so he simply remained silent as he eased back away from the pond's edge. It was a good thing that he wore the mask, else she would have been witness to the flush that his pale skin had taken.

When his hands left her nape, she was left with a chill, as the night breeze touched upon what had just been so warm, even under his usually cold fingers. Mortification at her actions crept in, staining her cheeks and throat red with embarrassment.

She felt him behind her, rinsing the soap from his hands and knew he meant to leave her here.

She turned quickly in the water, not even considering what she was about, and looked up into his masked face above hers, her eyes fixing on his mismatched ones, their color clear in the moonlight around them. Her eyes drifted down for one moment over his chin and mouth, lingering on his lips, then over his throat. The pale skin there was flushed slightly.

She met his eyes again and reached out one hand, catching one of his between her smaller one.

"Please, Erik. Don't go. You weren't hurting me." _At all..._

He winced when she took his hand, and she couldn't prevent a wince of her own at that reaction. Did he still disdain her, then? Did he still see her as only a bother, a nuisance? How could he believe that, after only just doing something for her so kind and gentle.

He sat there, frozen, unable to figure out if he wanted to retreat or simply remain where he was. His body decided, though, and after a light shift, he stilled anew.

Maintaining his silence, he stared at her with an almost incomprehensible look within his eyes. Why did she want him to stay? Did he want to do so? He was already, but why? Because she was holding his hand. A likely excuse, he could easily wrench it away from her.

She knew that the massage had not had the same effect on him as it had on her, that he was not feeling this flutter of heat, but had it only been a meaningless gesture?

She looked down, at the hand that was clenched in his kimono, his knuckles white. A frown wrinkled her brow. He looked almost...scared. She felt a strange unprepared for wave of something new, something that made her throat ache.

Looking up at him, she suddenly remembered his face...and what that face must mean for him...She looked down once more at the hand that she had her own wrapped around. Gently she added her other hand, covering his larger one completely.

"Don't leave," she whispered. "Please. I want you to continue." She swallowed. "No one ever touches me, not unless I am in the wrong."

His stare became ever more blatant, from curiosity to incredulity. She wanted him to stay. To _continue!_ By the Gods did she know what she was asking for, he wondered? For him, this monster, this ... thing to touch her.

The cloth entwined hand adjusted itself, pulling at the material as it bunched along his side and lap, disgustedly and further concealing the evidence as to just how 'unaffected' he was. He swallowed anew, though it did nothing as to the way of drying his throat, or getting rid of the knotting sensation within it.

Still he didn't wrench his hand away, and because of that he turned his regard to it.

_Betrayer, _he hissed inwardly at himself, his body. His mind fought, though it just wouldn't be listened to. "I ... cannot." For so many reasons he couldn't. This nagging clawing within his gut was driving him up the wall, and it was _she_ that was the case of it!

"I should go.." Though he made no move to retreat.

Swallowing, she nodded slowly, her eyes fixed unseeing at the grass below his knees. She knew he should go ... she knew that _she_ should let go ... What would happen if he stayed? Would he continue to knead her muscles. She knew as well as he that he had eased most of her aches, only a slight few lingering under the skin. If he stayed, if he put his hands on her again, this ache would only grow. It was burning low inside her, a gentle fever. More touches of his hands would only stir the embers even higher.

She wasn't a fool. She knew, despite her inexperience, what her body wanted, despite the fact that her mind was hurling insults at her. And he would never want _that_ of _her._ A servant who he disdained and was forced to endure humiliation for because of her disobedience.

But it hurt, _oh God_, it hurt. She closed her eyes so he wouldn't see it, and pulled her hands from his.

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely. "I should go as well." She opened her eyes, and looked towards the moon overhead, its light bathing him in its glow. Then she lowered her eyes back to his and gave him a soft smile.

"Thank you so much, Erik. I enjoyed it very much. It felt good to be touched..." she trailed off, embarrassed, then reached for her soap, needing to wash her hair, desperate for something to occupy her hands and thoughts.

He nodded stiffly, and pulling his hand back he brought his arm to cross over his stomach, attempting to calm the harsh twist that settled within. With shaking fingers, he pressed his palm to the ground and eased up from his seated position. He only managed to get a couple of inches from the ground before he was forced to lower.

This was a highly uncomfortable situation, and the dilemma he found himself in didn't make matters better. With her attention turned to the soap he rose again and with an about face, he started off to the house.

Both arms crossed over his stomach, and the hunching of his shoulders was an ill attempt at keeping away the yearning ache. Eventually he made it back to the house and within. Then without further dallying he entered his room with a sharp closing of the screen behind him.

He sank then, digging his fingers into the bone of his hips with a few heavy exhales. Unlike before, he didn't seek the sweet smelling cake he had placed away. It was an addiction, a weakness, and he had to learn to fight the responses of his own body without narcotics._ Dear God_, if he hadn't left, he was afraid what might have happened.

The walk back to the house, her robe wrapped tight about her, with her heavy curtain of dripping hair plastered to her back was a cold one, and for more than one reason. She had stayed in the pond too long, she was near freezing, her teeth chattering in her head.

She was also cold inside, aching …_ empty_. She'd never known that sort of pain before, never had had to deal with such an agony before. She felt a prisoner of her own body, she felt like ... like ... she felt _ashamed_.

Ashamed of herself for acting in such a way, for _re_acting in such a way.

She closed her eyes in hot shame as she remembered the way she'd practically went boneless in his hands, arching into his touch like a damnable cat. He'd been disgusted with her ... she'd seen the stiff way he'd moved, the unyielding lines of his body.

She reached her room, and she sat for what seemed forever, staring at her tiny mirror, her plain, unremarkable face staring back, as she brushed the damp tangles from her hair.

Finally, she slid into a night shift, and crawled into her bed.

When she woke gasping in the middle of the night, her heart pounding, and her body trembling, she nearly beat the stuffing from her pillow with a fist. She forced herself back to sleep, hoping that her dreams would not take her back to that pond, where he had chosen _not_ to leave...


	31. What Lies Beneath

_Here ye be warned. This chapter is one reason why this story is rated M. There are adult themes contained within. If they bother you, skip to the end of this chapter to the author note then go on to the next chapter.

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**Chapter Thirty-One:** What Lies Beneath

After waking from that _dream_, those images that she couldn't seem to forget she couldn't sleep any longer. She tried, fluffing her pillow, changing sides, but nothing would ease her mind and body enough to allow her to rest. She _ached _... and in places she'd never ached before. The house lay about her silent and still, even the sounds of a clock ticking were enough to keep her awake and drive her mad.

Finally, her eyes burning but her mind racing with all the thoughts of what could have happened if only he'd stayed and the shock of that she'd actually _wanted_ him to stay despite what she knew of him, she rose quietly.

Dressing in the warmth of one of her grey service kimonos and tying her hair back, she left the house on silent feet, her robe over one hand. If she was caught in her kimono she could always say she thought to work early ... As it was, she was hoping another swim would help her. Maybe if she swam until that inner ache was replaced by her muscles hurting she would finally be able to sleep.

A quick glance outside showed her that none were about. Sighing with relief that she wouldn't have to run into anyone, she closed the screen and took off at a run to the pond.

It was the sound of a splash that had gathered his attention, lifting it from the sketching that was being formed beneath the low light of his lantern. Glancing to his window he listened quietly, then exhaled a breath as he looked down again.

He must've been insane to do what he had. It seemed logical at the time. It plagued him still, as well as the way he had left her. Did she think that she had disgusted him? He felt compelled to explain to her just why he had to leave, though was too leery of going out there just yet. Besides, what if it wasn't her?

Placing the charcoal down he rubbed at his eyes through the holes of the mask, and closing his yukata he belted it at his waist then pressed to a stand. Exiting his room with a close of the screen behind him, he made his through the halls silently, only to pause at the door that would lead him to the expansive garden. He frowned at the handle as if he expected it to open itself.

Making laps about the pond, arm over arm, taking in gasping breaths as she swam, she finally couldn't go any longer, her lungs burning almost painfully. Against the side of the pond, she crossed her arms upon the bank and rested her forehead against the cool grass, panting.

The moon overhead cast a dappled sheen over her and the pond through the tree above them both. Her body was now aching, muscles trembling from the rapid swimming. Perhaps it was enough to allow her to sleep.

She closed her eyes slowly and let a soft sigh go, testing out that theory. The moment she began to spiral downward from the exhaustion she felt his hands upon her shoulders again, thin, cool, fingers working into her muscles. And it took no stretch to the imagination to fantasize about what they would feel like upon other parts of her body, moving slow, caressing, seeking places of her that ...

Horrified by her own thoughts she pressed a hand to her eyes, then slowly backed off the bank and treaded back into the water, staring up at the moon's face.

_He's a murderer and you can't get that face out of your mind_ and_ he was completely disgusted by you tonight!_ How could she even think such things? How could she look at him in the morning, knowing the thoughts that she'd allowed herself to feel, the complete disregard of his past? _Just go to bed...there's no answers to be found here_. With a long sigh, she pulled herself from the pond.

When it didn't seem as if the door would be opening, Erik took charge – and the handle as well – to pull it aside. Stepping out upon the cobbles, he turned, closing the door then continued on toward the pond.

At first it seemed as if she had already left, though from between the dangling vines of the weeping willow he caught a glimpse of moonlight upon bared skin. She was half out of the pond; her palms pressed along the bank, back arched in her movement as hair clung to every available surface. He swallowed slowly, the sound deafening to his ears.

Resting thin fingers upon the nearest tree, he drew closer to it, to balance himself more than to become a silent spectator. _Why, by the way you're acting, one would think you've never seen a nude form before. _That cynical, mocking voice reared its head again, and he did his best to shake it free.

With her knees upon the bank, she pressed to a stand, water streaming off her body, and shivered deeply, the chilly autumn air freezing against her wet skin. Before dressing, not wanting to soak her robe, she knotted her wet hair into a bun, then bent and retrieved her robe from the ground, the water becoming tiny cold, pricks of pain against her. Lifting her gaze to the house, she nodded to herself in silent satisfaction when she noticed that all was still dark and silent.

As she slipped one arm into the robe, she suddenly had the peculiar sensation of being watched. Freezing, she lifted her head and looked about in the darkened gardens, the numerous willows waving quietly in the wind. She didn't see anyone, but there were places of deep shadow, hidden from the moonlight that poured down. Sliding in her other arm and belting the waist, she couldn't shake it off though...that knowledge that she was being watched. Uneasy, she stepped forward...then saw him.

Her heart picking up a thundering pace in her ears and her mouth going dry, she couldn't speak for a moment, knowing that he'd had to have seen her. Embarrassment sunk deep. Finally she cleared her throat.

"Erik? Wh...what are you doing?"

He didn't attempt to speak upon being addressed – he was too embarrassed over being caught in the voyeuristic act and knew that if he spoke he'd be nothing but a babbling fool. Clearing his throat as well, he stepped from the tree, but not quite far enough where he'd be overtly touched by moonlight.

"I did not mean to disturb your swim," he began idiotically and inwardly grunted. "I had.. wished to.." Trailing off, he shook his head, thoughtlessly splaying his fingers upon the rough bark. "Please.. continue your swim." There was a moments pause before he added onto the statement, after another clearing of his throat. "I will go.."

Equally embarrassed, equally awkward, she bit her lip, hesitating, then stepped forward just a few feet, coming into the moonlight fully. "You didn't disturb my swim, Erik. I was already done. I c-couldn't sleep..." Inwardly wincing after such a statement, she closed her eyes tightly, then reopened them with a rake of hand through her hair, which she now wished she hadn't put up...she had the desire to twist it into knot after knot.

"What did...I mean...what did you want?" She hurried, tripping over her own tongue. "Not that you have to want something by being out here, but I just wondered if you wanted me...I mean...for...things... She helplessly gestured to the house, feeling more and more like a complete fool. "Assistance in the house...of course." _He wouldn't want you for anything else!_

She looked down quickly and took a few hesitant steps toward him, the chill of the air getting to her.

He hadn't known that he was backing up slightly until his shoulder brushed to the tree, and pausing at that moment he turned his eyes to her silently. Dampening his lower lip, he shook his head and exhaled a calming breath – one that wasn't too successful.

"No.. No, I did not come out here for something. I.." Raising a hand he pressed his fingers through his hair, easing the strands out of his face to be tucked behind his ears. Keeping his fingers entwined with the strands, he raked his eyes up along her form to meet her gaze again. The hand lowered to his side and he curled it slowly, attempting to work away the feeling of her skin from his palms.

"I had left for your good, Anna," he finally spat out, exhaling a breath soon after.

For several moments she simply stared at him silently, eyes searching for his in the dark of the mask, his form barely visible under the tree he was backed up against. It was almost as if, when he had been retreating, that he was _frightened_ of her. But the thought of a man that towered surely over a foot above her and out-strengthened her by far fearing her was almost ridiculous.

Shaking her head, she parted her lips, drawing a deep breath, then just simply plunged ahead into unknown territory, her curiosity and those lingering sensations evoked by him being close urging her own under-used boldness.

"My good? You say that as if you did me a harm?" This wouldn't do; she had to see his eyes. Arms wrapped her arms tight about herself, her body bare and chilly under the robe she peered up at him in the moonlight under the tree.

"You weren't hurting me...and if I had been ill at ease, I would have asked you to stop." Tilting her head she stepped closer to him, eyes finding his. "That sound I made," she blushed, "It wasn't from pain." Swallowing slowly, she blew out a breath and pulled the robe tighter about her.

"No..?" Her prior questions were suddenly forgotten about when his mind focused upon that one little detail. Resting stiffly against the tree he slid his hands within the sleeves of his lounging kimono, clutching at his elbows firmly.

There was fear there to tell him the reason for that low sound of pleasure she'd released, like a perfect wanton. Embarrassed now as she'd been then, she looked away, eyes focusing on nothing, but seeing only what had taken place before hand.

If the truth be known, that moan hadn't even been from the effects of the massage, but a more a response to his hands upon her body, the sensation of him touching her and the way her person had reacted to those touches. It took her a moment to face him and even longer to get her mouth to work past the part of her that warned her not to tell him such things.

"It felt good...the massage did. And I..." _don't say it..._ "I enjoyed you touching me." She barely resisted the urge to shut her eyes and will herself to shrink.

"How," he asked immediately, dubiously. "After ..." He couldn't continue the comment, and only gestured irritably to his mask. He couldn't understand why she would enjoy his touch, even when he tried to make sense of it within his room. She had _seen_ and that was all that mattered.

Lowering his hand he tucked it back into the yukata's sleeve, regaining that tense hold that he had just moments ago. Briefly he glanced to the water. Where there had been warmth upon first seeing her leave it, now the chill that he held inside was as frigid as that pond.

Her brow furrowed as she saw him gesture to the mask and heard the pain in his voice, the words that he couldn't get out. Something in her began to ache for him, tightening her throat painfully. Murderer he might be...but still a man, and one that faced the world from a face that she could never _imagine_ having.

That face rose in her memory, as indelibly printed upon her as his touch was. But both were _him_. He was ugly, that was certain, more than ugly. But she couldn't stop this..._wanting. _It took everything she had to step close to him and reach up one hand to touch the mask with a single stroking finger and his eyes widened imperceptibly. He backed up, fighting each and every defense mechanism that wished to click into place.

"It's a face, even if it is deformed. And you're just a man. It's not some hideous thing that I enjoyed your touch. I'm not disgusted by it." _Even if you didn't intend to make me feel this way._

"It is I you should be disgusted by," he ground out through partially gritted teeth. Pulling in a slow breath, he closed his eyes and swallowed to dampen his dried throat. Slipping his free his hold from his elbows he lowered his hands to his sides, his fingers taking up another clasp, though this time upon the dark material of his clothing.

Seeing him so tense, his hands gripping the dark of his kimono so tightly, she swallowed painfully, and wondered if she shouldn't just give in, duck her head, and go back inside before she could make an even greater fool of herself. But it seemed as if she was someone else tonight, someone who was tired of being submissive and turning her back upon everything she wanted because it was not appropriate or _the way of things_. She kept her hand upon the mask, fingers sliding over the curves of silk over paper mache.

"That night it was Kito who disgusted me, not you. Kito touches me more than any other, and yet I never feel anything but loathing for him. You touched me only once and I..."_Go weak from wanting you..._ She stopped herself from blurting out more than she should. Wetting her lips, she met his eyes and let her hand follow the line of his jaw, fascinated by the clench of bone under skin. "You do not disgust me."

He could feel her very touch through the mask, lightly vibrating along riddled skin and bone alike, and it caused him to knead his jaw firmly, an action that ceased the moment her skin came in contact with his own. A tangible chill flowed its way from his jaw, along his neck and rose the hairs over the lengths of his arms, evoking his fingers to clench tighter upon the yukata.

When his eyes snapped open and flew to hers, something inside her stilled. Disbelief was written plainly within his eyes, and a burning pain had to be choked away before he whispered the same question he gave before: "How..?" It just wasn't possible. Unable to look away, Anna could only stare back up into his own gaze, her lips parted. Breath coming faster, and her pulse beginning to beat a triple time in her ears, she knew that she had to pull back now...there were just too many things that she wanted to say, to _do_ in response to that question.

She could pull away or she could stay. Her hand seemed to make the choice for her. She reached up and brushed silky strands of dark auburn behind his ear. "When I'm near you all I can think about is you touching me," she whispered, her voice shivering on the air. And she was too earnest, too deadly serious this time to feel the embarrassment she knew should come.

His fingers wrenched even tighter within the defenseless cloth, and he stared at her as if she had completely lost her mind. His lips parted, ready to speak, but his jaw clamped shut again with an audible clicking of teeth. Part of him wanted to jerk his head away and stalk off back to the house, while a stronger part kept his feet firmly in place.

He could hear her heart thundering – or perhaps that was his own – and even louder are the breaths that were faintly hissed through the nostrils of the mask. "Is this some cruel joke..?", he finally questioned, his voice subtly breaking at the tension that was found within his throat.

As if suddenly realizing what she was doing, Anna pulled her hand back quickly, meaning to tuck both into her sleeves and back away from him as quickly as possible. But instead her hand got no farther than his shoulder, her eyes fixed upon his.

_What are you doing?_ He didn't want this, he didn't want _her._ He even believed her to be toying with him! There was no more proof that she needed to know that she would do them both a favor by simply walking away. Her brain told her to. But her body did not pay its stronger rule any heed.

With her palm upon his shoulder, she stepped closer to him, her neck forced to bend back to look up at him. She couldn't let him think that she thought so little of him that she would play such a game. The ache in her throat was even harsher then before and her pulse couldn't beat any stronger, surely, than the way it now did, so close to him. "What would ever make you believe that I would do such a thing? Is that how you think of me?"

"That is how I think of _myself_," he retorted swiftly, the final word strained from quivering lips. He drew in a breath, closing his eyes again as he exhaled. He needed to calm his nerves as well as the temper that wanted to flare from defense more than anything else.

The tone of his voice had her swallowing tightly and she hesitated, hand on his shoulder for only a moment more, then stepped back, head down. What had she been doing, pinning him practically against a tree, confessing things to him she would have never imagined her having the courage to say? She felt humiliated and terribly small.

He was so tense she could see it written in his every line. Above her his eyes were closed, his from shrunk back against the trunk of the willow tree. If there was nothing more to prove to her that he wanted none of this, it was that. But that tone of self-loathing...it tore at her, leaving her chest aching. One hand rubbing between her breasts along her sternum, she backed away until they faced each other from under the branches of two different trees.

"I'm very sorry someone has made you feel that way, Erik," she said quietly, her eyes upon his across the way. "But don't mistake me for them."

_Damn it. Why must you shove everyone away? Even when they offer kindness? _Opening his eyes slowly he eased away from the tree, but only moved but a few inches from its surface. "How could you not think other wise? You have.. _seen_ it. Why are you not running from me?" He didn't understand, he _couldn't_ understand. Surely nothing but fear and loathing was evoked by the sight of his face. And yet there she had been, standing before him, so close.. so close that he had felt the warmth of her skin.

Willing his legs to move, they did so, but not toward her. Silently she watched him as he approached the pond, preternaturally glowing from the moon's light, and stared down at the water. Her hand still rubbing absently at that spot upon her chest, she studied him, his form tall and darkly clad in the moonlight, just a long, thin shadow reflected in the water's surface.

She felt...so _much_ for him, and as of tonight and the first touch of his hands upon her, those feelings had been compounded even more, tangled in an aching heat that didn't seem to want to leave her in peace. But he was so tangled in his own web of self-hate and disgust for his own face that he couldn't even understand her.

_Make him understand...if for no other reason than to just let him know that at least _you_ are not afraid... _She moved slowly to him until she stood beside him and stared down into the water with him.

"I do not fear your face. I have no reason to. You've never hurt me and you've never done anything wrong to me. There is no reason for me to run from you." She lifted her head, studied his masked profile, then looked back down at the water, her hand moving in circle over where a knot of tension and sorrow had gathered.

"No reason?" He turned his head enough to look upon her. The discomfort and fear that had been in his eyes was gone, the dual colors were clear now, and he regarded her carefully. Shifting his weight he turned his eyes back to the water. "I am a murderer," he stated plainly, shrugging soon after. It was the same callous, cool nature he had when he spoke to Kito of death.

Lowering to a crouch the dark cloth pooled around his feet, partially hanging over the edge of the bank for one unfortunate corner to touch the water below, sending ripples across the pond, shattering the streak of moonlight. It took her several moments to speak, but finally she did so, her voice strained slightly with the final reckoning of that realization.

"I knew you had to be. The knowledge you had of such things..." She left that thought unsaid, images rising that she pushed swiftly back under the surface with force.

Eyes upon the water rippling with the corner of his kimono dipped into its surface, she sunk to her knees upon the bank beside of him, then swung one leg out, letting her toes dangle into the coolness of the pond. She'd finally ceased shivering, her hair drying slightly and coming loose from the knot she'd put it in. One hand cupping her knee, she watched as her foot made more ripples in the water, gathering her thoughts.

"Murderer or not, you have never done any harm to me." _And that's what mattered, wasn't it?_ Following the length of her leg to her foot, sunk into the water, the knowledge that he'd been there when she'd risen from the pond rose and she expelled a breath over the lingering heat.

He glanced to her foot as it entered the water, then turned his eyes forward again. Lowering further, he rested in a sit and curled his arms over his stomach. Dipping his chin he looked upon the bank, then closed his eyes. It was then when the image of her flickered to his mind; the way her skin felt beneath his fingers, the glimpse of her coming from the pond. He pulled in a breath, and held it a few seconds before allowing it to be expelled.

"I could..." he responded, musingly.

She turned slowly, still seated with one leg beneath her and one in the water. Fully facing him and bracing one hand upon the bank, the other wiping hair from her face, she regarded him silently, her brow furrowed.

That single phrase made her suddenly wonder if it was possible...She'd never before had any fear that he would hurt her, although she knew he certainly was strong enough to and obviously had taken lives before, but she'd never been able to say that she feared he'd do a harm to her.

"Would you?" a demon prodded her to ask him, even though she knew she was treading on ground she shouldn't. "Have you ever had the desire to hurt me?" She tried to keep the question casual as she swirled her foot through the water.

He gave thought over their past interactions, searching for an honest moment where her had the want to hurt her. He could only come up with one: "When I had believed you broke my violin. Other than that incident..." he shook his head softly, his eyes opening to look over to her. "I cannot think of another." Shifting his arms and pressing his hands into the sleeves off the yukata, he took a hold of his elbows and slid his thumbs along the knobs at the sides.

"And yet even then, you did not lay a hand on me, only my clothing." She raised one brow at him and gave him a slight smile. Unconsciously she let her eyes roam over him again, over his hunched over back, his position as if he was trying to protect himself. Again she wondered: _was he afraid of her?_ It surely was impossible. For what reason would he have to fear her?

Frowning, she found herself drawing closer to him upon the bank. "So I have no reason to fear you, Erik." She lifted one hand, hesitated and laid it upon his shoulder, her hand kneading gently. "Why won't you simply let me near you?" And as silly as it was, she leaned close and murmured, "And _I_ won't hurt you."

That was a good question. Why didn't he let anyone near him? Perhaps because he feared becoming hurt if he did. If he shoved everyone away before they had the chance to dig too deeply, then he'd be saved from a greater pain.

The warmth of her hand against his shoulder brought his head up, and he turned it to look upon her quietly. He had no answer for her question, not even the statements she had given. Only that pained gaze that fell away to the shimmering water. Stilling the rub of his thumbs he curled his fingers loosely against the backs of his arms, just above his elbows, then exhaled a breath in a soft, and tired, sigh.

Perhaps she'd made a mistake in touching him again, or in the things that she had spoken. Even so, she lowered her eyes and she slid her hand from his shoulder and down his arm, watching the path of her fingers upon the black silk of the kimono, leaving ripples in the material. Beneath the garment she could feel the chill of his skin and the sharpness of his bones, the firmness of his muscles.

The memory of the massage she had once given him rose in her mind, and she closed her eyes on a shudder, remembering the sight of his body, those smooth alabaster lines of his chest, even the play of scars across his back.

Heat pooled with her...but this time she didn't push it away, but let it linger and grow, savoring the sensation. Her hand came in contact with his, curled about his arm. Through the silk she felt the long, skeletal fingers against his arms.

A chill, unprovoked by the cool breeze wafting across the gardens, worked its way up along his arm, fleeting from the path of her fingers to linger briefly in a hair raising touch against his neck. The pausing of her fingers against his hand had it shift slightly, curling a bit tighter upon his elbow in reflex before he loosened his hold. "I do not want to be hurt anymore," he whispered quietly. If their surroundings hadn't been completely silent, the words would've been lost.

Sitting completely still in the silence of the gardens, her hand still upon his under the silk, she stared at the very slow ripples that now emanated from her foot where it still lingered in the water. Eyes closing slowly she swallowed.

How many times had she wished for that _very_ thing? Not to be hurt anymore, to feel, for once, that she belonged and was wanted, instead of constantly shunned...She wanted the same. Could she find it in herself to give him what _she_ wanted most?

Swallowing back the fear of rejection and the doubts, the confusion that still rang in her ears over all that she knew, she drew close, close enough that she felt his chilled body against her own much warmer one, her foot leaving the water. She dared not touch the mask again, not yet, when she knew not what his reaction would be.

Instead she tilted her head, lips nearing his jaw. "I won't hurt you," she murmured against the skin before pressing a gentle kiss there. Just as before when she moaned, he froze. Completely, utterly. Even his breath had come to a stand still. His eyes remained fixed upon the water; wide, yet dull in the lack of understanding. Her lips were against his jaw, warm upon the cooler skin, and the heat licked in a quick rush over his flesh.

Beneath the mask his brows drew inward and down, lips pressing thin as he turned his head slightly. That simple movement brought her mouth more flush against the tense line of his jaw and allowed him to catch sight of her from the corner of a sunken, golden eye. No longer dull, it was one that glistened with tears unshed. His throat worked softly, swallowing against the heated knot that had formed there.

Though she gained no response from him except for the tilt of his head, she didn't pull away. _She couldn't_, Oh God, not now. His skin, cool and soft was underneath her lips, his body and his face so close she could catch the scent of his citrus rosemary soap that she brought him for his bath. Pure feminine appreciation warmed her, stealing her breath in a soft catch in her throat.

Her lips found better purchase upon his jaw as he turned his head and she tilted her own jaw up, lips pressing another kiss, withdrawing only a breath away, then pressing another with a murmur in her throat. That third kiss given, she withdrew from him and forced her eyes open to look upon him, her heart thundering.

The tears that shone in his eyes tightened her chest even further and she lifted one hand, brushing strands of auburn off of his mask. Soft gusts of warm air touched along her wrist, expelled with each ragged exhale. His throat was completely constricted, staving off any and all words that might have been considered. The warmth and salt of tears strung against raw skin, irritating it beneath the mask, yet he couldn't feel it.

The touch of her lips lingered upon his skin, a ghost of a feeling that his fingers itched to both claw it away and press it deeper, to the bone. Trembling, his hand lifted, and he cupped the thin fingers upon the back of her own, clasping it loosely. Pressing her palm flat against the mask he turned his head against it, his lips tentatively brushing upon her inner wrist, staining the skin with the errant fall of tears.

Burning tears of her own stung at her eyes and she expelled a shaking breath, lids closing over the tears. Head dipping, she sighed softly as he cupped her hand, and pressed it to the mask. Her fingers fluttered under his, then settled upon the silk, molding to the shape, cradling him. Everything in her had stilled, all except the tightness in her chest and the heat that was becoming a liquid pull of longing. She prayed silently that he did not pull away from her. _Please, let him let me..._

Her eyes opened, widening at the touch of his lips against her wrist. They were so thin...yet _so_...softand firm against her skin. Tears trailed over the shade of pale blue veins that ran there, her skin coming alive under the brushing caress of his mouth. "_Erik... Erik..." _she said softly over the clog of tears in her throat. She dipped her head, her other hand lifting away his hair and she laid soft kisses upon the band of forehead the mask left bare.

Each kiss coaxed a shiver from him, and wanting to feel more he lifted his lips from her wrist to press his brow against her lips. Thin fingers tightened against her hand, firmly but not painfully holding, and using it as if it was lifeline, he scooted closer to her. The touch of her mouth felt like pure heaven, and he couldn't resist the urge to want more, to feel more. "Please," he breathed slowly, swallowing there after to dampen his overly dried throat. His hand released her own and his shaking fingers rose to her face, hesitant to touch.

His plea was like a spear of heat straight through her and she lifted her mouth, gasping softly as it found its way deep inside her. Wetting her lips, she pressed another kiss to his bowed forehead, leaving a warm, moistness there and ducked her head, tilting it. The hand that had been sunk into his hair slid out of the silky strands and she cupped his jaw, fingers curling about the smooth play of bone and skin. The hand he'd released lifted up hesitantly and guided his own to her face, and she opened her eyes and met his, their faces only inches apart.

"Touch me," she pleaded softly as she nuzzled her nose against the hollow where cheek and nose of the mask met, wishing it was bare skin she could feel. Her lips were so close he could almost taste them, his own aching for the barest of presses.

Pressing his fingers back, they grazed lightly upon wet strands, and his other hand lifted to come to a rest upon the ground, balancing himself within the lean. "Please," he again beseeched, his breath touching along her mouth as he thoughtlessly licked away the taste of tears from his upper lip. He struggled for each breath, as heavy as they were; an animal frightened, ready to retreat at the first moment's notice. And yet it was more than just nervousness.

Her body trembling from the weight of her need and how very much she wanted him, she drew her mouth down the mask, across the nose, and trailed down the opposite cheek. Her hand left his as it moved to explore her face and she shuddered, lips parting in desire as his cool touch trailed her cheek, leaving soft tingles of sensation in their wake. She'd never imagined simply fingers upon her skin could make her feel so..._heated_.

Leaning forward, her other hand mimicking his and balancing her weight as she curled up against his body, curves beneath the robe pressing against harder, sharp planes, she opened her eyes and met his own. That same plea left her shaking softly and she stared, fixated upon his tongue as it licked away the sheen of tears. So close she could _taste_ him... She closed that very short distance between them and closed her lips over his, tasting the salt of his tears. A whisper of a pleased moan left her as she caressed his jaw.

It was all surreal. It felt as if time had failed to exist the moment that her lips touched his. It was a sensation that could be lingered within for all eternity, and yet still he wanted more. The thirst struck swiftly, and he drank in the feel of her mouth with a firmer press, flavored by wet and warm rivulets as they slithered from beneath the mask's lip. His whole body throbbed to the rhythm of his heart, one that elevated in its already rapid rapport. Splaying his fingers along her cheek, he drifted them down to cup along the side of her neck.

How long had she wanted to kiss him? But yet...until this moment, she hadn't known that that was her desire. But now, with his lips pressed to hers, the salt of tears gathering there upon the curve of their joined mouths, she knew that she could never hunger for anything more than _this. _It was..._so good. _

She could only groan softly in her throat as she parted her lips, drawing back from his only enough to taste again, this time her tongue tentatively catching the rivulets of his tears upon its tip, to draw them back within her mouth, savoring the warmth and flavor. The hand upon his jaw traveled up caressingly and buried itself in his hair, her throat arching into his palm. That taste gained, she took his lips again within her own, her body trembling hard against him, her heart pounding so hard she feared he might hear it.

The shudder was deeply felt, coursing over him to bring his fingers in a clench within the grass below. What was he doing? What were _they_ doing? This wasn't right. He needed to control himself before he did something he would regret. But, God, the pain that each throb of his heart caused was almost unbearable. He struggled against himself, drawing his shoulders back, yet keeping his lips upon her own. But when he gained the feel and taste of her tongue with the urging press of his between her lips, he was lost.

She nearly whimpered when his shoulders drew back and she believed that he would leave her like this after all. She hadn't thought as far ahead as a rejection and didn't know what she would do if he did leave her upon the bank.

But when his mouth stayed upon hers, she _did_ whimper, pressing close to him, wanting more and more of him. Heat was now pooled deep in her lower stomach, and that sensation only grew heavier and warmer as she felt the softness of his tongue seeking passage between her lips. It was her first kiss but yet instinct and the desire to taste and explore him guided her. Fingers tightening in his hair encouragingly, she parted her lips for him, tongue seeking his.

The slight pull upon his hair brought a curious reaction, and he slackened, groaning deep within his throat. Shaking vehemently, his hand lowered to her shoulder and regained a clutch. Needing to breathe, yet unable to gain a proper purchase of air, he reluctantly parted his lips from her own. Running his tongue across to dampen them, he swallowed slowly, keeping his eyes closed a moment longer. Skin that was oft cool to the touch felt scorching, and it was sweat that he lapped from the ridge of his upper lip instead of tears. Another swallow, and he cracked open his eyes to look upon her.

She was grateful for the pause between their kisses as he drew away, her breath coming raggedly in her throat. That sound..._Oh God_...that sound that could be nothing but one of pleasure, low and deep from him...She could barely breathe from the sudden stab of-she couldn't deny it-desire that had coursed through her.

Their lips now parted, she expelled a breath that left their damp surfaces cooled. His hand still upon her shoulder, she leaned into his hand and sat back slightly, the hand in his hair sliding free to push her own hair from her flushed and damp face. She was unbearably hot, her skin beneath the robe grown slick. How could the closeness of two bodies generate so much heat?

Tugging her lower lip in a suckle, she opened her eyes and met his own. Gray eyes smoky with desire, she slid her gaze unconsciously to his mouth, already wanting more of his taste and touch. "Mm... it's hot," she murmured, pulling the lapels of her robe away from her skin.

She spoke of heat, and yet he suddenly felt as if he was cold – at least by the way the hairs upon his arms and neck told him. He needed to cool down just as much as she did, but he wouldn't dare enter the water would he? Not with her here. She felt the withdraw keenly as he pull away from her, physically and emotionally. His hand crossed over his stomach in a gesture she'd seen many times, and always when he was drawing into himself.

He nodded so stiffly and so formally, in no way reflecting the heat that had passed between them mere seconds ago. She glanced quickly down at her hands, now lying uselessly in her lap upon the robe, swallowing over the knot of pain that rose in her throat. She should have known...

Wiping sweat from the back of her throat under the fall of her hair, she paused as she watched him frozen in his place, one hand upon the ground. He didn't move any longer. She didn't waste time hesitating. She had no idea where tonight would lead, but she didn't want it to be over, not yet..._please_...not yet.

She moved to her knees, the robe clinging to her sweaty skin, but she ignored the discomfort and moved close to him, lifting a hand and using the edge of her cotton sleeve to wipe the sheen from his forehead. "Don't leave yet. Don't go." She glanced at the water, wondered at her own wisdom, then looked back at him with a slight smile. "If you want, we can..." She couldn't make herself finish, her cheeks going red.

Uncomprehending, he regarded her silently, then the water. It was his own suggestion – though unsaid – but hearing her mention it aloud took him off guard. "If ... if you like." Wetting his lips, he lifted his hand, pushing his fingers through his hair slowly. With the strands tucked behind his ears – which only fell forward again – he lowered his arm to rest across his stomach. Raising his palm from the ground he took a hold of the kimono and shivered as cooler air drifted along his skin. It was torture, pure torture, but it would be even more so if he got up and walked away.

Unbelieving that he would actually agree but trying to suppress the undeniable shiver of anticipation, she hesitated for a moment, wondering who would make the move to unclothe first. The thought of him nude...she nearly clutched her stomach at the roll of heat that went through her. She was acting wanton...and found she couldn't force herself to feel shame or give a care about it.

But a swim didn't mean anything. Reconciling herself to the fact that the kisses they shared may not be repeated, she finally pressed to her feet, standing over him. Her hand curled about the knot of her robe's sash and she expelled a breath over trembling lips. Finally she unknotted the robe, stepping back from him so that she would not be dropping it near his head, and shrugged it off, the white material pooling behind her. The night air washed over her heated skin and she sighed with relief, then met his eyes hesitantly, fighting the urge to cross her hands over her breasts.

How could he think to shed his clothing with such normality – and with the way the moon's light fell upon her skin – with such beauty? His own body disgusted him; he was far too thin, too pale, appeared sickly and scarred. If there was anything normal, anything plain about him, it was only his hair. And even that was an eccentric mixture of black and auburn, appearing as one or the other depending on the light. Swallowing thickly, he tore his gaze from her and exhaled. "I ... You can get in. Just ... please, turn." Just the thought of him being nude around an equally naked woman sent heat rushing to the most blasphemous of areas, and he muffled a groan in his throat at the pleasure in its wake.

Suddenly conscious of how bare she was, completely nude in front of him, she did cross her arms over her breasts, the chill of the air upon her hot skin bringing about an embarrassing hardening of the sensitive tips. She gave a nod, and turned from him, toward the pond.

There was a desire there to see him undress, memories of his bare chest that night so long ago in his room surfacing with the curiosity to see the rest of his body, but she couldn't bring herself to urge him to strip of his clothing in front of her. _Or undress him yourself_...Good heavens! Where had _that _come from? But the thought left an ache throbbing inside of her that she hoped would ease as she lowered herself into the chilly water, her back turned to him.

No sooner did she step into the water did the sound of rustling cloth be heard behind her; slow and hesitant. The yukata was the first to be shrugged off, and he glanced over his form, frowning at the sight of it. How could she want him to be there with her? Glancing up to see if she was turned away still, he shed himself of the hakama and split-tabi as well, then approached the water. Sinking into its depths he gave a slow hiss as it surrounded heated skin. Resting his back against the wall he sank low enough for the water to lap at his chin.

Once she heard the water settling around him, she turned about and peered over at him in the light that the moon cast off of the pond's surface. He was resting against the wall, the water up to his chin, his form completely hidden from her sight. It took a supreme act of will to not show her disappointment. It hardly seemed fair...

Pushing that thought aside, she closed her eyes tightly and sunk below the surface to wet her hair completely, then resurfaced, wiping the damp strands from her face. Now that they were here...the awkwardness set in. She didn't know what to say, what to do. Those kisses, they were burned into her. She couldn't even wet her lips without tasting him and craving more of his mouth, his touch, those low sounds he'd made. But what happened now? He had pulled away first, she had suggested the swim. Perhaps she should follow his lead? It was unknown territory for both.

This was incredibly awkward, and he was having the urge to climb out of the water and get dressed again. Straightening, the waterline drifted over his throat and along prominent collarbones to stop at mid chest and arm which laid rested across his stomach. Shivering he frowned behind the mask and lifted his eyes to her, his brow smoothing over. Perplexed and utterly confused, he didn't know what he wanted to do, what to speak of, if anything. He wanted to draw close, but couldn't. His face didn't disgust her anymore, but what of the rest of him? While it wasn't deformed like his visage, he still was but a walking skeleton.

Facing each other practically across opposite ends of the pond, Anna sunk back against the nearest wall and regarded him silently, through the wet spikes of her lashes. The water, which lapped at the tops of her breasts, keeping her decency, absurd since she'd just stood before him completely bared, was beginning to warm slightly against her, the temperature adjusting. Cooler and comfortable, she looked over at him again, realizing that he was going to do nothing but stare at her as she was at him.

Biting her lip, she let her gaze wander down the upper half of his body that he'd finally raised from the water, lingering on the smooth lines of his chest, bisected every so often with lashing scars, though not as numerous and horrifying as the ones upon his back. She was insatiably curious about the rest of his body, her curiosity bordering on that desire again to learn him.

They would sit here all night if this continued.

She finally drew a steadying breath and swam near him until she sunk down beside him upon the wall and turned to him. Hesitating, she finally reached up with one hand, repeating that gesture of brushing hair from the mask.

Though she hadn't attempted to remove the mask before, there was still that fear that she would do so and the corners of his eyes flinched. She didn't miss the it, but she ignored it, and continued to stroke the silky strands behind his ear, but failing as they just simply fell back forward over the edge of the black silk. It was a simple touch, but one she couldn't help but make, enjoying that touch upon the softness of his hair and the firm curve of his ear.

She glanced up at him, her own head barely coming to mid chest and met his eyes...but found them instead moving over her body, bared from her upper breasts. That glance was like a caress over her skin. He could have been stroking her with his finger tips, so heated was the chill left in its wake. When his eyes met hers again, she returned the small smile, suddenly shy in her current state. But there was no point in simply staring at him all night long and her body were beginning to respond, growing soft and warm, to the nearness of his unclothed form.

Swallowing over the same reticence as before, taking the initiative again, she pressed up upon her toes, neck bowing back, and kissed the side of his throat, lips finding his pulse and lingering there in a handful of light presses of her lips. She didn't question her boldness. Only hoped that he shared the same need to be close.

Beneath her lips a pulse that had been calming, suddenly darted back to its elevated pace, thudding vehemently against each press. His breath was nonexistent, trapped within his throat and straining to try to escape. Closing his eyes he shifted his arms against his stomach, then lowered his hands to take a hold of her waist, ready to push her away from him. It was the fact that he was touching bare flesh that had him pause. He kneaded over her skin before, working away the tension, but not in a place that could be considered so.. intimate. Exhaling slowly, he dampened his lips and lifted his chin faintly.

If the touch of his hands upon her shoulders and throat earlier in the evening had affected her, it was nothing compared to the moment when his palms cupper her waist. The skin beneath his hands was soft and chilled with the water, but could grow warm in an instant and was already leaning toward that...and he hadn't even caressed her. He was simply holding her. She'd felt the tensing of his muscles as he'd prepared to push her away, but the fact that it had never come only encouraged her.

A fine tension gripped her, sending lovely ripples into her lower belly. Savoring that and holding onto it, letting it warm within her and build, she slid the hand in his hair up further, fingers tangling in the strands. Shivering, she tilted her head, urged by the tipping of his chin, and parted her lips, tasting his skin with light touches of her tongue flickering over his throat, insatiably curious.

"Anna..."

His legs felt weak beneath him, and he wavered subtly, tightening his fingers against her waist. Thumping back upon the bank's side to keep himself aloft, she was inadvertently pulled along with him, not wishing to end the feel of her mouth. It was too good, too intoxicating. Discomfort flowed over him as easily as the enveloping water, yet there was that growing heat that threatened to consume him completely that distracted him from his desire to make a sudden retreat. He eased her close, though not too close. He wanted to spare himself the embarrassment of his predicament.

Eased close to him by his hands and the lean of his body against the wall she slid onto him, pressing her body against his, though kept herself from seeking closer contact with her hips. Only her upper torso found purchase against his chest and stomach.

Heat leaving a trembling wake down her spine and deep with at the sound of her name upon his lips and the sensation of skin against skin, she moaned softly against his throat and ducked her head, finding an intriguing hollow between the sharp collarbones where she could feel that rapid beat of his heart even more so than before. Focusing on that, chills working up her spine and over her body, she swirled her tongue there, murmuring his name.

"_Mm_Erik.."

It was a sound that weakened him considerably, and the distance he had wished to keep between them was suddenly cut short with a sloshing of water as he jerked her close, his fingers pinching tightly within her skin.

A strangled cry broke free from her throat as she suddenly found herself flush against his body, hips against hips, her breasts pressed to his chest. Their two bodies meeting sent shards of pleasure through her so acute that she grew lightheaded, falling against him momentarily, her forehead resting against his sternum, mouth open and gasping for air, only for her head to tilt back, a low moan in her throat as his rigid length slid against the softness of their lower stomachs, their hips instinctively grinding as one.

A harsh bout of vertigo hit him then, and he partially sank beneath the water, tipping his head back to nearly rest upon the bank behind him. His mind screamed at him to push her away, and yet still his body remained recalcitrant, doing nothing but pulling her closer. She sought more, and rolled her own hips up and against his in a fluid undulation, pressing the softer flesh of where her own desire throbbed against him.

Fingers tensed against her waist then dropped down to cling helplessly against her hips, and he shuddered at the feel of her grinding against him in return. A low sound buried itself in his throat, straining to work free though only slipped away as a ragged breath of air. He steadily pried himself away from the wall, if only to change the way they were standing. Capturing her between the bank's side and himself, breath left her body in a shuddering gust against his throat and he swallowed, hesitantly seeking out her lips in a starving kiss. He wanted more, so much more, but was too nervous to let himself be driven by instinct. He was too afraid of what he would do, though he ached, God did he _ache._

As his head dipped and his mouth captured hers, she mirrored his hunger, her entire body rising from her toes to give herself over to the meeting of their lips. Hers parted and she breathily moaned, a sound that could be heard and felt against his own mouth. Hungrily, barely able to believe how much she _needed_, she swept her tongue along his bottom lip, collecting the last taste of tears and sweat and his own unique flavor. He was..intoxicating to her.

One hand slipped behind his back and she coasted it up the knobs of his spine to curve about one shoulder. The other fisted in his hair again, pulling him down as he went slack against her with a groan, she deepened the kiss.

He let go then, let go of his fears and inhibitions, allowing his need and desire to take over. It sank its claws in deep, bleeding heat over his body in tangible waves. Sinking against her he pressed between her thighs, dipping his lower body and raising again in a seeking press. Frustration was quick to reveal itself in a low grunt in his throat, though instead of intelligently releasing her to rectify the problem, he continued persistently rocking against her, grinding hardened flesh against more yielding.

If he was frustrated, she was equally so, whimpering low in her throat, eyes shut tight as she strained up against him, hips rolling to meet his, though with their height difference only her belly slid tightly up against his length, her intimate area only brushing more water and the edge of his thighs.

As he dipped, then slid up against her, his arousal pressing, but not entering due to their positioning, she moaned against his mouth, the sound low and pleading. Though his rocking did nothing more than grind their flesh together, she keenly felt every roll, the chill of the water doing nothing to cool the heat that was pooling between her thighs and up inside of her, hollow and aching. Having to focus on something besides the frustration, she captured his velvety tongue with her own and suckled hungrily upon it, echoing the act with sounds of need pouring from her throat.

With how tightly he was holding her hips, it would be a surprise if she didn't have bruises come morning. The suckling stroke upon his tongue pulled a heavy groan from his chest, and he finally loosened his hand from her hip to drop between them. He couldn't stand it anymore, and with the first curl of fingers around himself, it felt as if he was going to be undone.

Freezing he panted roughly against her mouth and slowly moved, pressing against her again, a more intimate push that had him shudder straight from his bones. All desire wanted him to enter her swiftly and succumb to the coiled knot he felt tightening at the base of his stomach, deep within his groin. He tried to stave off that need, but it had different thoughts. The moment he felt the tense enveloping of her body he rocked up against her, engulfing himself completely. He clung to her then, his arms sliding between her back and the pond's wall as he tried to fight back his shuddering, knowing it would be his end if he let it take over.

A strangled cry of pain broke free of her throat and she buried her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder, shuddering into his skin. Her hands fluttered on his shoulders, and she winced, their positioning uncomfortable and adding more pain to that sharp stinging pain between her thighs. Whimpering, she wrapped her arms tight about his shoulders, lifting a leg to wrap about his thigh, urging him to lift her.

He complied without thought, their positioning uncomfortable to even him. One arm curled beneath her leg and he straightened, lifting her toes from the craggy ground beneath them. Her sound of pain had almost had him release her; if it hadn't been for the drawing wrap of her leg, he would have. "_Mon Dieu,_" he groaned, murmuring the words repeatedly.

Sliding his other arm from around her, he took a tight hold upon the grass of the bank as his head lowered, spine bowing for him to rest his masked brow against the side of her neck. "_Si bon_, so good.." His lips were hot against her skin, his breath bathing a warm blanket across the surface as he took up that rock again, a maddening slow rhythm that sent shards of pleasure up the length of his spine, throbbing over his body.

For the first time, she became fully aware of just how deep he was inside of her. With every trembling breath she could _feel_ him, even though he had not yet begun to move. And his words..."Oh God, Erik..."

His name was a throaty, soft moan on her lips as the last threads of pain vanished, replaced only with heat, the awareness of her and his bodies, and the promise of pleasure. Her hand found purchase in dark auburn strands again, fingers slipping heedlessly under the mask's strap, the other clinging to his back. When she was rocked slowly into with the thrust of hips and the sliding of length, she closed her eyes tightly and let her head fall forward, her hair forming a damp curtain around them.

"_Please_...Erik...it feels so good..._Don't stop..." _Words flowed in soft murmurs from her lips against the curve of his ear as each rock brought a wave of pleasure through her stomach and over her form, centering where their bodies joined.

"I d-do not want to stop. Oh God, Anna.." Hissing in a slow breath against the slope of her neck he pressed against her, trapping her between him and that wall with each quickening rock. The slower pace no longer, his desire drove him to bring an end to his torment. Fingers clenched within both grass and flesh. Her leg hefted still and held bound against the side of his body, hitched over his hip, the press of the bone nearly threatened to bruise the tender skin along inner thighs.

He sought out her lips again, the feel of his mouth ravenous against her own, drinking in each taste, savoring the feel of her tongue as his stroked along, reverberating from the deep groans that traveled from his throat and centering within his groin. "Anna, I.. I can't.." He needed to stop, but didn't want to. He _couldn't_. So close, he felt so close, and he fought against it vehemently. Too soon. Much too soon.

"_Yes...Erik..._" She broke from his lips to gasp for air in her burning lungs, her head falling back and hitting the grassy bank behind them, but she barely felt it, just as she barely felt the sharp press of his sharp hip bones into her the inner faces of her thighs. All she could feel and focus on was the drive of his length inside of her, just enough pain lingering in every thrust to have her fisting her hand in his hair, her other leaving scores of red into the pale, scarred skin of his back, a mixture of intense pleasure and those small jolts of hurt that had her feeling more..._alive_ than she'd ever felt before.

Eyes cracking open she focused on him again as a hot coil of pressure began to build deep inside her. Lifted by him upon the wall, his hold upon the bank and her hip and anchored by his quickening thrusts, she could look down upon him just slightly. His deep groans were felt against her chest and she exulted, knowing that he was finding pleasure within _her _body...But God...she wanted to see his face and see if it was not only her imagination that led her to believe he was enjoying her.

"I...I w..want to _see_ you," she managed to utter between each thrust and the panting whimpers his taking roused in her. She curled her fingers around the mask's strap.

Dread sunk deeply within him then, and he tensed against her. "No. No, please. I .. I do not wish t-to ruin _this._" Even with his plea he was unable to become completely still, his body just wouldn't let him. Part of him wanted it off. Sweat was pooling upon his face, and the skin was rubbing over the inside of the mask, making it feel more raw than it actually was. His eyes focused upon her own, pleading that she wouldn't remove it, and if she did.. that she wouldn't become disgusted. A breath left his lips in a slow exhale, and he shuddered, arching in a deepened stroke within her.

That thrust momentarily distracted her and she cried his name sharply as that coil within became tighter, building in a tight knot of pleasure that bordered upon pain. But she drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly on a soft moan, refocusing upon him. She licked her lips, her eyes flickering back and forth between his pleading, mismatched gaze.

"I've already seen...I j..just want to look at you...I...want to _see_ what you're feeling."

She dipped her head and took his mouth in a hungering kiss even as she lifted the strap free of his hair and slipped it from his face to cast upon the grass. It was when he felt the cool touch of the air upon his face that he froze completely, but she didn't stop. _Oh God _she didn't stop. She hadn't cried out or pulled away. She clung to him, wanting to be closer to him.

Wiping away sweat with her fingers, she parted her lips from his as she wrapped one arm about his shoulders, then the other and used the leverage to begin meeting his thrusts with rocks of her hips. As pleasure coalesced even tighter and tormentingly at her center, she met his gaze.

"Erik, " she groaned softly as she undulated against his body, "You..you feel so _good_...Oh God..._I love you_..." No, _no_! She hadn't just said that! She clung to him tighter, moaning deeply as he thrust into her, trying to cover her own shock, just as his own knocked him over that precarious edge.

The rush came swiftly, evoked by the feel of her body around him, against him, by the words she groaned, words that only made the release stronger. He thrust hungrily within her, drawing out the sensation, letting it last for as long as he could. Breaths came no longer, and when they tried to escape, they were strained and ragged.

That shock evaporated as she was pinned even tighter against the wall with every rapid, sharp thrust. Surely she was coming apart at the seams as she clung helplessly to him, her hands clutching him, his shoulders, his hair, his back, even his biceps as she fought that growing painful pleasure.

She met him every step of the way, her head thrown back, sobbing his name raggedly over and over. She couldn't last...it wasn't possible. Surely she'd simply die any minute from too many sensations, too much overwhelming pleasure.

And when he filled her with a tangible heat and she watched his face glaze over with ecstacy that he had within _her, _and his last fierce thrusts penetrated deep into aching flesh, she knew that she was going to break.

The coil knotted unbearably, pain, pressure, and pleasure came together, and she rode the very edge of it. Willing herself to cross that edge, that blinding edge, she lifted her hips and sunk down hard upon him, nails digging into pale skin. Her mouth opened, ready to scream his name into the night. "_Erik!"_

She lunged up from her bed, the scream still raw in her throat.

For several moments she only stared through sweat dampened strands of hair at the moon hanging low outside her window. From here she could just see the pond's edge, her mind burned with heated images...that had never happened. Her eyes sunk closed on a moan of near pain as that same coil that had been ready to explode with her reminded her that it had all been just a dream.._just a dream.._.

Aching, and even wet between her thighs, she lay back upon the pillow trembling heavily, her legs shaking so badly that her teeth chattered. Kicking off the blankets, her shift snarled up to her hips, she pressed one hand over her eyes and willed herself to calm. But she couldn't...There was something...something she'd told him, something vital...and she couldn't remember it. Biting her lip, she curled onto her side and stared out her window.

She didn't think she'd ever be able to look at that pond again...not without feeling his arms around her and his lips on her skin.

The moon drenched scene outside her window blurred with unshed tears of regret.

* * *

_And thus is the conflicted emotions/thoughts of Anna. Erik comments represented here were her rational subconscious thoughtswhile Anna's own voice and reactionswereher emotional subconscious. _

_She knows he's a murderer, knows he's hideous, yet is trying to continue to find good in him. Does this and the events that happened earlier in the night throw a monkey wrench into things? Well, you have to read the next chapter to find out. :Winks:_

_There were a few concerns addressed concerning this chapter; mostly as to why, near the end, Erik isn't hesitant or back pedaling. All Anna know of men is that they have little patience when it comes to things of this nature. _

Oh, yeah. There Jenny-gal. Happy? Or you still holding out for the real thing::Grins:


	32. Frozen Grounds and Hot Air

**Chapter Thirty-Two: **Frozen Grounds and Hot Air

**Winter, 1855**

Anna crossed the halls of the house, stocking clad feet padding upon the wooden floors as she moved, her eyes resting upon the tray that she carried in her hands. Her gaze lifted momentarily as she passed the sunroom, the shutters there now shut and bound, closed tightly to ward off the chill winter air of December. Every window in the house was as such, except the front dining room and the kitchen window, which were lined with heavy, thick glass.

She lowered her gaze back to the tea tray in her hands and repressed a shiver. The house was kept adequately warm in the winter, the fireplaces burning at all times, but her room, which she'd only left minutes ago, was the coldest in the house. She was allowed hot bricks under her covers, but beyond that, there was little comfort and warmth to be gained. The kimono that was wrapped about her body was thicker, made of a soft wool rather than the linen ones she wore in the warmer months, the shift beneath it made of thicker material as well.

As she arrived at Erik's screen and knocked quickly with one hand, she heard the low moaning of the snow driven wind outside, beating away at the house. The horses were bundled away warmly in their stalls, lined with copious amounts of hay. The gardens lay dormant. The pond was frozen over outside, its surface coated with ice, no longer where she bathed. She now took hip baths in her room, in a small tin tub.

She missed the freedom of the pond, even though the mistress had taken to allowing her warm water recently.

With that thought of where she once bathed, a memory rose, a night nearly three months passed. That pond, in the moonlight, gentle hands on her shoulders and neck. _And the dream that had followed..._Images from that dream surfaced, burned hot and bright, stealing her breath and leaving her weak with longing, then sunk back below. A soft shiver wracked her body, but she surpressed it, as she had done since that night, which had _never_ been repeated...the friendship, the touching of two people...it had never occured again. She hadn't touched Erik since that night, and neither had he done so to her.

She let the pain of regret die, and waited for him to call her into his room for his tea and their morning lessons.

"Enter." Why did it have to be so _bloody cold_? He had seen winters in his time, though when he was a child he was trapped in the house all day and never got to experience the coolness of the breeze. In Persia, they were lucky to receive a cold rain. Yet again he wasn't looking forward to going out and working upon the buildings, but at least now he was working with the men instead of standing around in the cold. Problem was that they had to wait to get started because ice and snow had to be scraped off of the work they did do. He made a notation that they had to get tarps immediately.

Rubbing his hands together, he drew his robe closer around him, his face half buried within the furred collar. His interests had taken another turn within those months that passed, and as he looked upon the bust of the model before him, he was glad he had taken up clay work. The figure looked like a splitting image of Yashiro the silk merchant. Gathering one of the shaping tools, he leaned forward, placing more detail within the wrinkled lines at the corners of the old man's eyes. Only briefly did he glance up when he heard the screen open, then his eyes dropped back to the clay.

Anna entered the room quickly, and crossed the floor to where he sat, bent over the clay bust that he was carefully working on. Erik's eyes met hers, for the briefest of moments, and she lowered hers quickly, just as swiftly as he did also.

She knelt beside of the desk and sat the tea tray carefully upon the floor. Her hands working quickly, the more to create warmth than to truly hurry, she poured out two cups of the dark tea, its steam and scent already making her spine chill with the need to get something hot inside of her. It felt as if, as it always did during these long winters, that the chill had settled in her very _bones_.

As she sat Erik's own cup and saucer at his elbow, she gave a quick glance to the deep fur collar of the robe, shrouding the bottom half of his mask. Apparently this first winter endured in this country was having an ill effect upon him.

Her own cup was taken in her hands and she added a tiny bit of cream and one cube of sugar, then lowered to a sit, stirring the dark brew. On the mornings of their mutual lessons, she had finally allowed herself the luxury of making enough tea for both of them. She rose the cup to her lips and blew delicately across the surface, creating tiny ripples in the surface, then took a long sip, sighing at the warmth that coursed down her throat and came to rest in her stomach.

He worked upon the bust a little longer, wanting to make sure that he had gotten the eyes perfected before he set the model aside. About one/third life size, he was able to get in the finest details, down to the little mole on the left side of the man's mouth. Placing the sculpting tool aside, he cupped his fingers against the board the clay was on and lifted it from the table. Easing up to a stand he stepped over to his dresser, setting the bust there and covering it with a square of silk. Returning to the table he lowered to a sit and gathered the cup that she had set aside.

Turtling his head into the fur, he murmured something beneath his breath as he let the cup warm his hands. "I think my hands are too frozen for our lessons this morning, Anna." After close to five months of being in Japan, his grasp on the language was becoming perfection. The writing, too, was flowing more smoothly but not perfect. He wouldn't be happy until it was.

Bringing the cup within the V of the furred collar, he tipped it gently, sipping at the tea slowly. At least that was helping getting some warmth to his lips. Being that his skin was always a little chilled, he wouldn't think that the cold air would bother him. He was dead wrong.

Pulling the kimono's bodice just a bit higher about her collarbone and throat, she gave a stiff nod, empathasizing with him completely. Her own fingers were turning stiff and were reddening, the nails a soft shade of blue. She lowered the cup from her lips and wrapped her small hands about it tightly, soaking the warmth into her skin and bones.

"I can honestly say the same, Erik. I do not believe I would be able to grasp the pencil properly to write out those French conjuctions for you. I'll simply have to past your muster another day," she said dryly, the cold making her tone a bit irritable, without her intending it to be so.

She lifted the cup again and took another slow, grateful sip of the hot tea, then looked briefly over at him, only meeting his eyes as long as was necessary, not wanting to stir up memories, both real and imagined.

"Would you still like for me to read those passages you gave me, or simply save that for a more...comfortable occassion. One in which we're not about to become blocks of ice." She laughed softly on a whim of amusement, then went silent just as quickly, the chill that had existed between them rising once more. _Would I ever be able to look at him the in the same way again?_

Raising his eyes from his cup he glanced over toward her, though said nothing of the bite she had within her words. He had given the same many times before. As of now, though, he was far too cold to try to raise his temper. "Reading the passages would be suitable. Perhaps when it warms.. which I highly doubt it will, we shall continue with the writing." Maybe if he soaked in a hot tub all day, though by the way it felt, the moment she poured the water into the tub it would freeze over.

Another sip of the tea and he glanced to his covered window. It was common for him to retreat into his beloved darkness. While he needed a good dose of sunlight, he blocked it off. Which reminded him.. Faintly he groaned. He had sword training this morning also. At least he would warm up, but the cooling down process felt like he had sweat freezing on his skin.

She nodded at his answer of the passages being acceptable, and drank down the rest of her tea, tilting the cup back and draining it completely. The heat was welcome, her throat and stomach already much warmer. She set the empty cup upon the saucer, then stood to her feet, moving over to his dresser where _Romeo and Juliet_ sat. When he had first suggested that particular title, she had stared dumbly at him for some time, mind numb with images of star-crossed lovers. _A pointless fantasy, Anna.._

A smile of remembrance crossed her face as she carried it back over to the table and resumed her seat, then flipped through the book until she found the passages that they had been working on from Act I, Scene IV. She cleared her throat, one hand curling into her kimono, fingers brushing the chilled skin there, and began reading the words, taking her time. She relaxed her tongue and lips, forming the prose, line by line, the lilt of the beautiful language sheer pleasure in her mouth. "C'est vrai, je parle de rêves, qui sont les enfants du cerveau oisif, engendrés de rien que de la fan-fantaisie."

Though her whole attention upon the reading, she stumbled over that phrase, her face blushing hotly, a knot forming in her throat, but she continued, correcting herself.

For a moment his eyes traveled to the bust, and he studied it from the distance, even if there was silk covering it. There were other figures in the room; some of them small people or animals, others were a little bigger to allow more detail. Another sip of the tea and he glanced to her again, repeating the phrase in English, amused. "Hm.. 'True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but fantasy..' Interesting quote you have chosen." Smoothing his fingers against the side of the cup, he exhaled a slow breath. "What are you making for breakfast this morning?" Surprisingly he found himself hungry, as he had been for the last few days. It had to be the weather. He wasn't so hungry during the warmer months, perhaps because he filled his stomach up with water or other random drinks.

She closed the book gently, cradling the leather bound volume in her hands carefully, as if it was the rarest treasure in the world. Which to her, it very nearly was. She still owned no books of her own; Erik had never given her that volume of Arabian Nights that he had purchased that one day in the market, only days after she had met him for the very first time...she'd realized that he had indeed simply bought it for himself and not for her at all...

She straightened in her kneel upon the floor, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and retucking it within the low bun at the nape of her neck. He had indeed been eating more lately, she'd noticed, his interest in food greater than it usually was. She herself had not been eating as well lately. The winters were hard on her, the workload that much harder to bear under in the cold, her room not heated at all. She barely had the energy to eat some days.

"I was going to prepare sausages, boiled eggs, and rice cakes." She raised her eyes to his. "Is there anything you would like me to prepare for you that you would enjoy?"

"Soup. Soup would warm me up much more quickly than those others." Plus it wasn't as heavy. During the cold weather he had always just wanted to sleep, sleep and.. _sleep_. Even with his terrible insomnia he found it lifted when he was too frozen to do anything else. Tipping the cup and draining the last of the tea, he adjusted the neck of the robe, loosening it slightly now that the tea was doing well to warm his skin.

Idly he wondered if he was turning blue, though he wasn't about to look into a mirror to see. He had avoided looking into a mirror for far too long, even when he was working on the ones within Persia. Placing the cup aside he kneaded his fingers together, getting a bit more warmth into them.

She gave him a soft nod, then adjusted her kimono and stood to her feet. She'd make him her chicken broth, something that she kept the preparations for at all times. It was a simple soup, but one that was nutritious and filling as well as something she knew he enjoyed eating.

She took her own cup and set it back upon the tray, then cast a look about the room, looking over his various clay sculptures and busts, a hobby and art that had seemed to consume him for the last months. Just as everything he did, everything he set his hand to, they were perfect, minutely detailed and exquisite.

She looked back down at him, pulling her kimono as tight about her as she could. "I'll add soup to the menu for you," she said quietly. She bent at the waist and took the empty cup from him, taking care not to allow even her fingers to brush his own. There seemed to be something there, some invisible barrier between them, since that night.

It was no surprise that his hand had drawn away from the cup when she reached down to grab it, as if he had feared that the contact would awaken what has been lain dormant for weeks, months now. Not only the memory, but what the memory inspired. Often he chastised himself, saying that it was only a touch, only a massage, nothing more. "Thank you." Simply because there was that barricade, it didn't mean he had to be rude to her. In a way he was glad to see that even Nio might have realized this. "If Dakuro is readying, inform him I will be out soon, once I break the icicles from my fingertips." He frowned and looked at his hands, swearing they were a pale shade of blue.

Anna gave him a soft nod of her head and carried the tea tray out of the room, closing the screen behind her.

In the kitchens once more, she set the used dishes into the basin and poured in hot water to wash them, sprinkling some powdered soap in as well. From the front of the house, she heard the front door open and shut. A chilling draft blew through the house, finding its mark down her spine in the kitchen. Shivering, she moved to the large fire place and warmed her aching hands, the fingertips reddened by the chill.

As she moved to bend over the stove to heat the pan for the morning meal, Master Kyomi entered the kitchens, a thick fur lined coat with hood wrapped and tied about him. He gave her a smile, his slightly lined eyes crinkling up. She returned the smile with her own and bowed low to him with respect. In the last months, both he and the Mistress had treated her differently. She was still just a servant, with nowhere near the privileges and rights that the household received, but she at least was treated as a _human. _

Then from the other entrance came another member of the family, his face hard and petulant in expression. Things had not changed in that aspect...although when in the presence of his parents and most certainly in the presence of Erik he didn't even _look_ at her. When they were alone, he continued to treat her as he always had – no better than a dog – although he had never touched her again. She turned away from Kito, ignoring him completely and gave her missive from Erik to Master Kyomi.

He truly wasn't looking forward to practice, but at least it would have him become warm for a while. Changing into his warmer kimono and heaver hakama, he gathered the false sword and hitched the jacket closer around his neck before heading outside. The moment the cool breeze hit his skin he lost his breath, only for it to be expelled sharply. _Too cold..._ Murmuring softly, he continued on, listening to the crunch of his boots against the heavy layer of snow. He wouldn't mind the blinding white.. if it wasn't freezing.

Coming around to where Dakuro was, Erik was displeased to see the ground laced with snow when it had been cleared yesterday for better balance and fighting. It didn't do well to slip all over the place. Once near enough he gave a short bow to him and lowered the sword off to his side. "Are your winters always this cold?"

Dakuro gave a laugh, his head going back in the fur-trimmed hood. He straightened, bracing his feet apart, one hand wrapped about the hilt of his false sword, gloved fingers gripping it comfortably. He turned and looked out over the snow covered clearing and the white clad gentle mountains in the distance.

Winter was a comfort to his old bones, to his soul. Whereas it might chill others, and it certainly did so to him every so often, it meant more to him simply another season. It was the end of the year.

_And one more year that passed without event..._

He turned back to Erik, casting an eye over the younger man's thicker, heavier clothing, nodding with approval. Over the last few months, Erik had grown stronger. He was still as thin, still as bony, but sleeker, more toned with muscle. It was good. Evidence of an apt pupil and an accomplished teacher.

"This is only December, Erik. I suggest you prepare yourself for the next two months. This chill is nothing compared to what you will feel."

He didn't like how that sounded. Frowning faintly he nodded a bit but said nothing more. They were going to have to strip out of the coats to practice, and he truly wasn't wanting to. Though, with a sigh, he unclasped the extra layers and shrugged them off. Trying his best to ignore the chill that immediately sank into his bones he approached the bench and laid the cloth over it.

Setting his jaw firmly, he approached again and began warming his muscles with the kneading of his hands. Exhaling a breath he eyed the mist that rose to the skies. "When one can see their own breathing, it is far too cold. We should be sleeping," he complained, but prepared himself for practice nevertheless.

"Conserve that hot air, Erik. Don't waste warmth on pointless complaints."

Dakuro unsheathed his sword, working his wrist in slow circles to warm the muscles which were beginning to stiffen with the cold. "Come, let's not mince words. You'll heat up all the faster if you are in motion."

He stalked out to the clearing, and turned to face Erik, working the sword carefully and precisely through the air, stretching his limbs out as far as possible, enjoying the spread of ache that preceded the muscles relaxing and warming.

As he warmed up, he studied his pupil, who had removed his hakama and was now stripped down to the kimono. Despite the progress that Erik had made in their lessons, there was still something that lingered there, an unease, a tension that never seemed to lift from the narrow shoulders. He wondered if his son was the cause of it, although there had not been barely a word between them. He frowned, gave a small shrug of his shoulders, then raised his brows, catching the younger man's attention, nodding, then attacked.


	33. Sacrifices

**Chapter** **Thirty-Three:** Sacrifices

Training was begin as it usually did; the two men were wearing their dotera and hakama, and Dakuro was carefully regarding the thinner man, who was undoubtedly shivering from the weather.

Dakuro's dart came quickly, feigning a blow upward only for a jutting jab of sword to aimt toward Erik's gut. He had parried well, brushing the wooden blade aside and countering. Back and forth this had gone, neither of them landing any complete, true blows, though each of them ended up with a smack or three to the knuckles.

Snow scattered about their feet, clinging to their thick tabi boots while the soles wore the white, cold powder down to the bare ground. Though it was freezing outside, the exertions were enough to bring a light sheen of sweat to their brows.

Erik was steadily becoming an expert, though Dakuro had many, years and many wars beneath his belt, making it hard to actually defeat him, which did nothing but irritate the younger man to no end. He had yet to actually defeat Dakuro; there had been plenty of draws and swollen knuckles, but no actual 'death blows' made by Erik.

Just when he was thinking that he had him, he suddenly found his feet gone from beneath him, landing him hard upon the ground with a sharp expelling of air, and Dakuro's sword posed above his heart. With a growl of irritation, Erik thumped his head back against the snow bank.

Dakuro only savored the defeat for a brief moment, then drew back quickly and sheathed the length of bamboo into his belt.

Breathing harshly, Dakuro bent at the waist, stiffly, bowed to his opponent and held out a hand to help the younger man up on his feet. Once Erik again towered above him, his mouth formed a smirk of satisfaction and he clapped one bony shoulder through the thick fabric of the dotera. Even though he had been the victor, he could not help but be pleased of the progress that Erik had made. The victory had been a hard-earned one this time, even making a seasoned warrior like himself take deeper breaths to regain his air.

Beneath the pride ran respect. A deep respect for this young man who worked tirelessly at his art and everything he set his hand to. _Now if only he would allow him to teach him the virtues of the way..._

With that thought in mind, he turned away, and picked up his discarded coat. It had become the habit of the two men to walk after their sparring as of late. Both to cool off aching muscles and also for Dakuro to spend more time with his pupil.

"You're doing well. Now come, get your coat on and let's go walk." Without waiting for an answer, he clasped his hands behind his back and took off in the direction of the forest that lay beyond his property.

Nodding lightly he lifted his hands, rustling his fingers through ear length dark strands to get rid of the clinging flakes of snow. Tucking the false sword into the line of his belt he stepped over to collect the coat and slipped it over his shoulders. Rubbing the fur down slightly to ensure that it wasn't tickling at his lips, he turned to follow Dakuro.

Gathering his breath steadily, Erik lifted a hand to tuck the strands behind his ears as best he could, only for them to flop forward again, framing the sides of his masked face. There had been a few times he thought about shaving his head bald again, though with the cold weather having hair was a better idea than letting his scalp freeze. Catching up to the older man's side, he bundled himself into the depths of the furred drape.

The two men walked silently for over half of an hour; the only sounds their boots crunching over the fresh snow. Around them the woods were stil. White painted over a fortress of dark, twisted trees, their branches bare. A fox darted across their path, and a bird called in the distance every so often.

Dakuro was lost in thought. Beside him walked a man who could have easily become one of the greatest swordsman in his time. He was only a beginner, true, but in less than a half of a year's time, he had made more progress than either Dakuro or any of his other students had made in two year's time.

His own lord and master had been a hard teacher, and had nearly broke him in the process, but he had learned, with difficulty.

Erik...the _architect _didn't even seem to struggle too much. But he could never be truly _good_ until his inner balance and inner health were as nurtured and fed as the rest of him. Dakuro very much wanted to show him the way of Bushido...but the younger man had rebelled steadfastly, changing the subject, or simply walking away when it was mentioned. And yes...it was _not_ a way of independence. There was loyalty, duty, and devotion required, none of which Erik seemed to want to embrace. He inwardly shook his head over the pity of it all.

Then something caught his eye. In a garden clearing ahead, two men stood facing each other, one in a coat similar to his over a dotera of a dark crimson. The other, younger man was dressed in no coat, only a heavy white dotera similar to the other.

A frowned crossed his face as he noticed the young man go to his knees before the elder, shrugging out of the dotera, and tucking the sleeves under his knees, he propped himself upon his heels.Out of the trees, he noticed others, a handful of men, swords at their waists, watching.

He swallowed, memories flooding. He knew what was about to happen, had seen it...had participated in it. It seemed so long ago…

He turned quickly to Erik. "We should not stay.." But he saw the mismatched gaze was fixed on the scene playing itself out in the forest. Erik had heard him, though his curiosity was piqued. The mood of the scene seemed so somber, all too silent.

Stepping forward quietly he brushed a frong of a tree's branch out of his way then stood still behind the line of the trunk, unconsciously concealing himself so he wouldn't disturb the surroundings. The wind blew gently through the foliage, stirring leaves and the fur of the drape, causing it to gently tickle against his jaw and chin, though he didn't seem to notice.

Stoicly unwrapping his obi from about his waist and shrugging open his dotera, the Japanese youth leaned forward, curling his fingers around the sheathed tanto before him. It was the sound of running water that caught Erik's attention, and he flicked his gaze over to where the length of a keen sword was being cleansed. The bathing of the blade brought the other men to their knees, one buried deep in the snow as they all watched on in a quiet that even Erik could feel the weight of.

With the extra droplets shaken off of the katana to strike the snow below, the tanto was released from its sheath and the young man smoothed his hand over his stomach, poising the tip over his own flesh. With a slowly drawn breath, his palm covered the end, and with one swift shove, the blade was buried deep without hardly a sound from the youth. A shift of grip and it was wrenched to the side, spilling his blood freely over the snow and staining it a vibrant red. Only seconds had passed before the cleansed katana ended the mans life with a downward swipe at his neck; severing his head clean from his shoulders.

The only other sound there was, was the body slumping forward and the blade replaced as all those present bowed, including Dakuro.

Both stunned and curious, questions began bubbling to the surface, but he kept them at bay, respecting the silence of the moment. He finally glanced away to Dakuro when they prepared the body for burial with the wrapping of it in a crisp white sheet.

Dakuro slowly rose from his bow, and knocked the snow from his coat and the knees of his dotera. He did not speak, his throat tight with emotion and reverence...and _memories_.

He turned silently, gestured for Erik to follow him and left the edging of the clearing.

Neither spoke as they traveled back to the house, both lost in thought. Erik in his questions and shock, no doubt, and Dakuro in his recollections, his memories, his fears. Years ago, it should have been someone else in that same position, with himself as an observer, his lord holding that katana and another kneeling upon the ground, disemboweling himself...

He shook off those memories, those things that he believed should have happened...and didn't. They came within view of the house. Dakuro turned to Erik, and faced him.

"When a samurai brings dishonor on his master and lord, on his family, the only honorable way to correct that wrong is to forfeit his life, releasing his lord and father from the shame." His voice was soft and low, and contained none of the emotion that had been caught in his throat only moments ago. "The way of the sword is a difficult path, which much demanded of its pupils. And one cannot consider himself a true master of the skill until he has accepted all that comes with the honor of holding that title. Good day, Erik. I suggest you go warm your self up." He left the younger man standing there. There was nothing left to say for now.

He had planted the seed.

If anything, Erik's curiosity was heightened more than it was already. What information that Dakuro had given him was only a bit of crumbs compared to the feast that Erik had the feeling he kept stored away. One that he wanted to get a sample of, if not indulge within every bit of information he could.

Finding himself alone, that scene kept playing in his minds eye, the way the man barely even flinched when he shoved the blade into his own stomach. There was just.. so much unspoken. So much to be _learned._ Taken from his thoughts with a faint shiver, he gathered the draped fur closer around his neck and glanced back toward the forest. Furrowing his brows beneath the mask, he made his way to the house in the same silence he had during the ritual, his mind heavy in thought.

He had blindly made his way back into the house and toward his room, only to pause and peer down at his feet. Moving back to the door he removed his tabi and placed them aside, regardless of his toes feeling frozen as he continued on to his room.

Dakuro wasn't going to get away that easily. Come next time they were alone, the poor man was going to be bombarded with questions. Undoubtedly Dakuro counted on it.

* * *

In the small room set aside for laundry and sewing, Anna sat huddled on the floor, tucking her feet as far under the edges of her kimono as she could, the air in this chamber nearly freezing her to the bone.

The fine, soft, but thick leather in front of her was receiving its final stitches, forming a pair of gloves, the fingers especially long and narrow for a pair of hands that would fill them perfectly.

This morning she'd noticed how discolored Erik's long, slender hands were with the cold their lengths even bluer than usual. She assumed that this was his first true winter in many years. He had spent some years in such a hot climate, his body must be having a shock from the frigid temperatures, and the winter would only grow worse.

The gloves finished, she rose to her feet, pulling the opening _V_ of the kimono tighter about her throat and collarbone. She was _freezing_, which prompted her to stop in her room and slipped on another pair of stockings upon her chilled feet.

For a moment, she hesitated at his door. It had been _months_ since she had gone to him for a reason that had nothing to do with a lesson or her duties to be performed for him...It just seemed easier to control her reactions to him that way…and avoid seeing his disdain of her.

She swallowed back the memories of easier times, before that night, and that dream, had changed everything, and knocked upon the screen.

Almost completely buried within layers of cloth and fur, Erik attempted to sculpt again, only to find his hands trembling far too much. If this was just the beginning, he was almost afraid of what the rest of the winter would bring. Giving up on the clay, he laid down just as her knock had come to the door.

Sighing faintly, he was glad that he didn't have to rise. Tucking his legs beneath the drape of fur, he looked like no more than a lump of pelts, dark hair and eyes. Eyes that were focused upon the door as his muffled voice lifted: "Enter."

Yawning slowly, finding himself quite lax with the cold and previous work out, he tried to wake as much as he could and shifted against the bed roll. He had a building site to go to, and falling to sleep now wouldn't be wise, nor helpful.

She slid the screen open and stepped inside, closing it shut behind her to conserve what heat there was in the room. It was cold in here, though not as cold as her own room...she shivered wrapping her arms tightly about her self then looked down at him, seated upon his bedroll.

She couldn't help the affectionate smile that crossed her face at the sight of him, a pile of dark, glossy furs, deep auburn streaked black hair and a set of mismatched eyes.

She crossed the room to him immediately, her arms still crossed about herself, trying to save what meager heat the thicker clothing was giving her. Sitting before him and kneeling, reached into her obi of her kimono.

"I have something for you. I…made them this morning." She pulled out the pair of soft, warm leather gloves and held them out to him.

"You'll freeze outside and in here without something on your hands." She wished she could have a pair of her own, but didn't think she'd be allowed. She cast an eye over the furs and wished heartily, with a shudder of her form, that she could have one of those as well. She was frozen to the bone.

But she smiled despite her discomfort and presented his gift to him, her expression shy and hopeful.

Raising one brow he shifted the pelts down slightly and weaseled an arm free so he could take the gloves from her hand. Collecting them within his fingers he eased to a sitting position and turned over the gloves slightly. They looked like they could fit, but he wagered that they probably didn't. His fingers were long and skinny, and his wrists were thin.

Though, still, he opened one up and slipped his hand within with a wriggle of his fingers, ensuring that it was snug. A good fit, a little loose, but that would allow him to grow into – or since he was no longer growing, to have room for swelled knuckles.

Tilting his head to the side he glanced to her, then back to his hand again. The other glove slipped on, he threaded his fingers together. They were warm, and comfortable. "...Thank you. Though you did not have to." Gifts were a foreign thing to him, but something he could appreciate when given. Even if he tended to be suspicious of motives.

Anna lowered her eyes, ducking her head slightly.

She suddenly felt embarrassed for having made them for him. She'd certainly had no real reason to do so...she'd only wanted to see him comfortable. His newest interest, sculpting, required the use of his hands and she knew that with this bone deep chill, it might be difficult for him to do so with such cold hands.

If she had any other reasons, she ignored them, pretended that they didn't exist.

Raising her eyes back to his, she drew her legs into her slightly and wrapped her arms back around herself, chilled.

"I know I did not have to...I wanted to. You were so cold this morning," she shivered as another chill gripped her. "I'm afraid that winter will be hard on you. It's not much, but hopefully the gloves will make it a bit easier to bear. This winter promises to be a particularly hard one." She could already feel it coming in her bones, which were beginning to ache with the cold.

His first instinct was to as 'why,' though he kept the question stilled upon his tongue. Nodding gently he rubbed his hands together lightly then turned his eyes to her again as she shivered, her teeth near chattering with the chill.

He had other furs folded up in his chest, losing one wouldn't bother him any. Besides, he could always purchase one to replace it. Unraveling the pelt from his slender form, he shrugged it off of his shoulders and handed it over to her.

It only seemed fair.

"Here. Take it. Your room is probably dreadfully cold." Dropping it upon her lap before she had a chance to argue, he gathered the other pelts that remained around him and bundled them closer.

She sunk her fingers hesitantly into the thick, soft fur of the dark pelt, the warmth of his body still contained in it. For a moment she didn't speak, her throat tight with some painful emotion that was better left unexplored.

She lifted the pelt then swung it about her shoulders, sighing at the heavy fall of its wide length. It draped over her form, weighing her down comfortingly. She gave in and closed her eyes, huddling as deep into its warmth as she could, wrapping it tightly about her until only her nose and above were visible.

For a moment she simply soaked in the sensation of being warm for once, then raised her eyes to his above the ruffled fur.

"Thank you, Erik," was her muffled reply.

"You are welcome," came his easy response. "If they wish to take it from you, simply tell them that I had given it to you since I was going to discard it anyway." Shrugging lightly he brought the fur beneath his jaw, then used it to cover his mouth. Once again all he left exposed was from the bridge of the mask's nose and up.

Closing his eyes to half lid, he regarded her quietly for a few moment then shifted his body to draw his legs closer to him, tucking beneath the draping of thick fur. Beneath the fur his fingers stroked against the gloves, feeling the softness of the leather.

He couldn't remember a time he actually wore a pair, and though he could have fashioned some to protect his hands from the cold in his youth, he didn't bother.

She didn't believe they would take the fur from her...because they had never given her anything beyond heavier blankets for her room did not mean they would deny her something so fine...truthfully, months ago, they might have, but things had changed, and she was treated with more gentleness and consideration than she had ever received.

For a few more moments, she sat there with him, huddling into her fur, aware of his clean scent on it, until she finally realized that he most likely didn't want her sitting here, taking up his time and being a nuisance.

She let the fur loose and stood to her feet, then re-draped it about her. The pelt pooled at her feet in a puddle of dark, glossy fur. She hadn't realized it was so large.

"I shall be able to sleep in this!" she looked down at him and smiled softly. "I need to start lunch, I suppose. Goodbye and thank you." She left quietly, the fur trailing after her small form.

It was an amusing sight, indeed. The fur was far too large for her, but at least it would be able to wrap around her twice over, if not three times. He paid a hefty sum for it – probably mostly because he was European – but he had plenty of money from his building and it didn't matter.

Yawning slowly he decided that a bit of a nap wouldn't hurt him. He had a few hours before he needed to go off to the site. Perhaps he'd simply go after lunch. He'd have food in his stomach and enough energy to last him for the rest of the day.

Shifting his weight he turned over to his other side, snuggling deep into both the furs and the pillow. Closing his eyes he was plagued again with that dismal scene, and where there would be non-Japanese that found it a horror, he somehow found peace.

It was a curiosity he would try to figure out later.


	34. Acceptance

**Chapter Thirty-Four:** Acceptance

From the day in the forest where that scene had played itself out upon the snow, another month passed. The nipping cold of December turned into the frigid, bitterness of January.

If the depth of snow and the drop in temperature had been an inconvenience to their unaccustomed guest at the onset of winter, it must have been torture at the turn of the year. It took time and acclimation to become accustomed to Japan's coldest season. For those not used to it, it could mean grave illness. Going out without the proper dress or staying gone too long without preparations had the potential to be disastrous for those foolish enough to attempt it.

Dakuro stood at the front garden doorway and looked over snow drifts that were blustering their way across the yards. The weather these past couple of days had prohibited swordplay, something he deeply regretted.

Since that walk and the witnessing of the samurai making amends to his lord, he had offered no more insight to his pupil, instead allowing deep curiosity to settle in. In the questions that wanted to be asked, there was a thirst for knowledge. He had the hope that his resistance to explain more would foster that need.

He turned away from the doorway to look over his shoulder at his wife sorting through a large trunk of furs. "We'll need to purchase more of those very soon," he said thoughtfully. "I think we're in for the worst winter we've known in some years."

"The mountain roads will be impassable," she remarked softly.

"Yes," he agreed. And at least there was some relief in that. _Not before Spring_..._and maybe never at all._ He turned back to look outside.

Raising one thick fur she shook it out and draped it over a post to check over the length of the pelt for spots bare of fur or holes. This undoubtedly, was a task for Anna, though Nio had nothing else to do at the time and decided to spend her lax moments picking out furs.

The new ones would be set aside for the girl to place in the rooms while the old ones would go to her. When her husband silenced, she glanced over her shoulder to him, then followed his gaze toward the mountains. "You should not think so much, it makes your face scrunch." Turning back to the chest a smile formed on the corner of her mouth, and she found herself humming along with the sound of the violin coming from the back room. The notes were light and airy, quickly paced – a song that Erik had played many times over the winter. It was a way to keep his fingers thawed out.

Her fingers disappeared within the thickness of the dark pelt as she lifted it and folded it up to place it aside with the other two she had already chosen. "Anna," she called out softly, drawing the girl from her chores to collect the furs, then pressing up from her kneel she gathered the thick cloth of her drape closer to the front of her neck as she stepped over to him.

From the other room, Anna sat back in a kneel from the fireplace where she'd been carefully poking bricks in the blaze, and pressed to a stand. Leaving the poker leaning against the stone wall, she moved quietly into the main sunroom and gave a bow to her two masters before kneeling again by Mistress Nio to gather the furs.

The winter that was growing colder day by day outside warranted extra furs on every bed to keep out the chill at night. Even as well made as the Kyomi house was, the bitter winds could still cut through even tightly bolted shutters and find their way to the occupants' beds.

Wrapping her arms securely about the three large glossy furs, she stood again. "You wish one for every room, Mistress?" she asked, raising a brow. A slight nod was her answer and she bowed. As Anna went about laying out a new fur upon each the three Master's beds, Dakuro gave a heavy sigh and turned to his wife, sliding the garden panels shut. He cleared his face as she approached him and gave her a weary smile. Reaching up, he tucked his hands within the fur about her and pulled it tight around her form.

"No matter what, you wish to remain here? There's been...rumors, Nio. Rumors I can't pretend I don't hear. Another old friend dead, his home burned, his whole family gone." He sighed and brushed one lock of dark glossy hair from her face, lingering over the gray at her temples. "It's a long journey from their village to ours, and the mountains are impassable, but..." He broke off and simply pressed a kiss to her forehead, listening to the strains of the violin deep in the house. He knew that Nio would never want to leave this place.

"Would you truly wish to leave all of this, Dakuro? We have raised our children here; watched them grow and find their own families." Sneaking a hand out from the drape of fur, she pressed her palm against the outside of his hand and closed her eyes briefly. Opening them, she breathed out a sigh and shook her head with a bit of irritation in her near pitch-black eyes. "We have moved as he wished. What more does _he _want?" Though she knew the answer to that question, she dared not speak it aloud.

Stepping closer to him, she clasped her fingers against the edges of the pelt and rested her cheek against his shoulder and he looked down at her. Slipping his arms around her, he tightened them almost fiercely as he reflected upon her words. It was something neither of them preferred to think about. And maybe, it did not even bear thought; there, in truth, was nothing they could do to prevent those who wished to find them from finding them.

"No, I would never leave here, not willingly. If I cannot stay here and protect what is mine and all that I have worked for, then what is the point of even my life? I won't run again." They'd moved once before after a grave warning. No more.

Growing upset by the path of her thoughts, Nio turned her focus to something else. "He plays beautifully," she whispered softly, closing her eyes to the sound of music that had become a constant in the house. Once so dismal and silent, broken by little conversation, the lilting notes had become a welcome addition – reluctantly so.

"You two have not practiced in some time. The weather has become too harsh for your old bones, dear husband?", she jested lightly, a smile curving her lips.

Taking his mind off those dark events, he chuckled and set her back firmly from him. "These old bones still have many years and energy yet, wife. Will I have to prove it to you, sharp-tongued woman!"

He pulled her into a hard kiss, warmed, eased, by her presence and the ever present notes that filtered through the house.

How odd it was...how much had changed since he had come? Dakuro felt as if his home was...complete with Erik here. Even if the other man still did not strive to make himself part of the household, but rather kept himself distant for the most part. It was something Dakuro hoped would change soon. He held a hope that Erik would make a life for himself here, accept even more of his tutelage, and make a home of his own. He'd become oddly attached to him.

_Like the son I should have had._

_  
_Laughing softly as she was pulled back, she fell easily into his kiss and let one side of the pelt drop loose as she lifted her hand to cup his cheek. It wasn't until a soft clear of a throat did she ease back almost guiltily with a glance toward the sound's source.

She had to bite her inner lip, hard, to keep from laughing; Erik was standing there, looking three times his size! She would guessed that he had two or three layers of clothing on, as well as a thick pelt he took to dragging around with him every where now-a-days. His eyes were the only thing to be seen, for the fur was high enough to practically conceal his mouth. He huffed out a breath sharply, sending fine hairs to flutter.

"I had not meant to disturb you.." trailing off he half bowed – or what would've been a bow if he hadn't been constricted by cloth and fur – and glanced toward Dakuro. "Perhaps you have a moment to speak?"

Mouth twitching with amusement at the sight of the tall, thin man, now nearly taking over the doorway with his greatly padded up birth, he released Nio with a last squeeze of his hand to her elbow and gave her a heated glance that spoke they'd continue this later. He couldn't think of a better way to spend a frigid evening than wrapped up in furs, making love to his wife.

With a gesture, he urged Erik to follow him to the other sunroom. A furnace burned brightly in the center of the room, heating the space adequately. With how wrapped up the other man was, he assumed he'd appreciate the warmth of this area.

Seating himself by the blaze, he pulled his own thick, wool kimono tighter about himself and tucked the hems of the hakama closer about his ankles. He called out an order for tea to be brought to them, then turned to Erik with an amused smile at his garb. "What is on your mind?"

Dipping his chin slightly when Nio passed, he turned back to Dakuro then followed him toward the sunroom. The warmth was welcoming, yet he decided not to remove his layers just yet, not until his body decided it still had the ability to sweat. Lowering to a sit, he folded his legs beneath the pelt, then let it slip down to his mid back. Just as Nio had thought, Erik _was_ wearing more than one layer of clothing.

Raising a hand he tucked a few short strands behind his ears then tucked the slender appendage back beneath the fur. For a few moments he was silent, watching the fire flicker beneath the pot of water. While it was basic, it was a good way to heat up the room – using the snow from outside to boil and warm the air with steam. Dampening his lower lip he turned his eyes to Dakuro again. "A few months ago you spoke to me of defeating my enemy. My...personal enemies, rather. You have my attention."

The sensation of triumph that swelled within him was suppressed quickly and he merely nodded his assent before turning back to stare at the fire that burned beneath the bowl of water.

He'd waited for this for months now. Erik had a darkness within him that seemed to swell outward every so often and take him over. That day in the snow when Erik had attacked him savagely during their sparring had remained fresh in his mind. He'd nearly lost control that day...if he'd been facing a _true_ enemy, he would have been distracted very easily and his weaknesses revealed all too easily and he would have been killed. Dakuro had seen it over and over with men that he'd trained and those he had seen trained by others.

Clearing his throat, he turned his eyes to him. "You remember the morning we took that walk and we witnessed the ceremony in the woods? That is the dedication, the price, that learning the things I wish to teach you asks for. I would not demand such of you, of course, but you must understand first that there is no room for selfishness or serving your own needs first. And that includes the expending of your temper...unless necessary. Do you think you can accept that?"

Easing back slightly he adjusted the draping pelt and dropped his eyes to watch the flickering of the flames. All of his life he had been one to seek his own needs first, only because none other would willingly provide for him, not without a price. None save for one. "My temper is not so easily quelled, you realize. At times it is quite inexcusable."

Pale, skeletal fingers stroked absently along the pelt that laid across his thigh, and curling them slowly, he captured the fur, shifting it to conceal his knee. "If I am to put aside my own needs...whose needs come first, then? Surely not some random stranger I meet here and there." Raising a brow beneath the mask he turned his head to regard Dakuro squarely.

Pleased that Erik was not rebelling at the first mention of quelling his temper, Dakuro leaned forward and studied the fire, reaching over for an extra poker left propped against a wall. With the long shaft of metal in his hand he shifted some of the coals until the flame burned higher.

The things that he had to teach Erik were not going to be easily accepted, he knew. Many outsiders saw the devotion and dedication paid to a Samurai's lord, or in this case, teacher, as merely a way to ensure those in power _stayed_ in power. But it was not about that at all. Not for a master who truly wanted his men  
and students to learn and grow.

"Traditionally, it is a man's family that comes first, his father and subsequent relationships there after. But your family is not here. Your devotion must then be paid to your lord. Or your...teacher, as I am to you. When one serves their lord with utmost devotion, they have a purpose. Peace, Erik, is found in servitude and devotion to another. Duty and obedience create purpose."

He broke off as Anna appeared with the tea, giving the girl a nod. "If you can find peace within yourself, and find a purpose in your life, you will find contentment."Dakuro's comment of family had Erik glance away and he studied the fire without actually seeing the flicker of the flames. Feeling his fingers tightening against the pelt, he loosened them and splayed them along the fine hairs. Shaking his head a bitter chuckle slipped through his throat.

"Peace is a thing that is surely compromised within myself. How can one gain peace if they have little idea of what 'peace' is?" _Purpose_...what purpose did he have anymore? To survive had been his only purposebeyond the desire – the _need _– to be accepted; seen as much more than an outsider. A _freak._

He shook his head faintly and shifted the fur, drawing it over his currently thick shoulders. Was it only those like Dakuro that performed with selflessness? Or was it all Japanese society? This he had to find out on his own. Perhaps more exploring, more mingling with the locals was in order. Once it warmed up, of course.Dakuro shifted in his seat, inching just a bit closer to the fire to allow the heat to warm his older bones. The winters grew harder on him with every passing year, even if the signs whispered to him.

Contemplating if perhaps _that_ was another reason he wanted to teach and guide Erik in the ways he'd been taught, he nodded inwardly. It would feel good to leave a part of himself behind, to know that the old ways, which died more and more with every passing year would not be lost forever.

"Peace will not come immediately, Erik. It is not something that can be gained through only _wanting_ it. With all things inside yourself, such as the controlling of your temper, it must be brought about through the use of your body, your hands, the things that you partake in." He accepted a cup of tea from Anna and acknowledged her bow before she turned to serve Erik's own.

"Such as my playing," he stated more than questioned. Perhaps he did know peace, but it only came after he exhausted himself with playing, or focusing upon his drawing, or some other random task that he might allow to occupy his time. Glancing up as Anna knelt by, he regarded her quietly a moment, then turned his attention back to Dakuro. "I am not impatient enough to expect that peace would come immediately, nor am I foolish to think that I would succeed in such an endeavor." Slipping a hand from the drape of the fur he tucked his fingers beneath the cup as it was lifted and gave a slight nod of thanks to her before drawing the drink within the thick shroud. Perhaps he could use that bit of steam to warm him up more. "I will listen, though, and perhaps learn enough for it to have some use."

Drawing several deep sips of hot tea within and letting the nearly scalding drink to warm his insides, he leveled a look upon Erik.

"Expecting failure is where you _will_ find your first failure. The mind is a powerful thing. If you set yourself for a task or to master an art and do not expect to do so, how far will you go? Not far. Do not set yourself up for failure." Another sip and he followed the other man's example of tucking the cup withing his own  
covering to warm himself.

"I believe the best place for us to start in your education is where we are already at. Your swordplay is another task that must occupy your mind and your body. The perfecting of that particular art is something that will require time, effort, and absolute dedication. I know, though you have not spoken of such things with me, that you are not one to entrust yourself to others...but there is reliance upon your teacher that is required for your mastery of the sword. Loyalty, even, and trust in my own skills. The first principle of what I want to teach you is loyalty to another...you start there. The others will follow. There's too much to explain all at once. Especially to one unfamiliar with the ways of this country, and even ways that are now dying out."

Curving his fingers beneath the cup, bony fingers splayed, then curled as he lifted the rim to his lips. Drinking down a slow sip, careful not to burn his lips or tongue, he lowered it beneath the fur again, resting his arms across the width of his thighs listlessly. "You are correct. I am not one to entrust myself to another, not easily." _Not anymore_. It wasn't recalcitrance that kept him from being loyal to another, but wariness. Any time he was drawn in, or let someone in, nothing but pain came.

"I trust your skills. You have been taught much, trained long. After all, you are _far_ older than I am." The threatening amused twitch at his lips was covered with another drink from the tea. A half lidded gaze rested upon the large iron kettle before them, and he smoothed his fingers slowly over the porcelain.

"Do you think it is possible for anyone to obtain inner peace? Even someone tormented by their demons since birth?", Erik asked softly. Leaving the room, just about to slide the screen shut, Anna heard Erik's last question and paused in the doorway, one hand on the wooden panels. Slowly she turned, and her eyes found his form sitting by the furnace. For a brief moment she gazed at him silently, wondering, not for the first time, what kind of life he'd had before coming here.

She turned away when Dakuro lifted his head and met her eyes, a stern frown forming on his face. She quickly bowed and left the room. Turning back to Erik, Dakuro regarded him quietly for several moments, questions of his own spinning in his mind, but ones which for now he would leave unasked. There would be time later, and hopefully trust gained between them when he could learn more about this quiet man.

"I am pleased that you trust in my skills, Erik. Trust in one's master is essential to your education." He hoped that he knew what he meant by 'master'...

"And I have known men who have seen dark things, experienced betrayal and deceit, seen those they love..." he cleared his throat, remembering _too many_ things, "and yet they find peace in their lives, in simple things, in those around them, in the daily rituals of life and the work they partake in. It's only possible if you let it be."

He almost began laughing with the mans last words. Instead he shook his head, raising the cup to sip at the tea. Cooler now, he was able to drink down a bit more before he'd have to stop because of the warmth. He closed his eyes briefly, pulling in a slow breath, then nodded. The bi-colored gaze turned to Dakuro again.

"I am willing to attempt learning. Peace...would be a positive change in my life." And he believed, even if Dakuro had told him not to think of failure, that it would be a very fleeting change. With the cup's bottom against his palm, he used his free hand to turn it slowly upon the skin. A thoughtful regard was given to the fire, then he shook his head to himself. "Will we be training during the winter? Sword training, I mean."

It was a start, at least, that he was willing to try. In Dakuro's own youth and young adulthood the concepts and practices that he wanted to teach Erik had seemed natural and commonplace...the way of things. It had been understood early what expectations he would have to meet, to his own father, and then to his lord...that thought brought a direction of his thoughts that he would rather not think about.

Letting it go, he rolled his neck, cracking stiff bones that were even tighter with the cold outside. He took the last sip of his tea, draining the cup and set it and the saucer upon the tray for the girl to take back later. A glance was cast through the tightly closed shutters, as if he could see the snow clad mountains and the rolling hills.

"Hmm...we'll have to wait until the temperature raises a bit. If I'm not correct, a storm is preparing to blow in and it will likely freeze over outside..." he looked over at him, "and I doubt you'll want to be out of doors for any length of time. After that, we'll continue. For now you might concentrate on your other studies, music, your calligraphy, your drawing. And perhaps, if you are agreeable, you can join me in my meditations every morning. But that I will leave up to you."

"Our muscles will become slack. Might I suggest training indoors? Or at least something to keep them from growing lax?" Drinking the last of the tea he placed the cup upon the straw mat and tucked his hands beneath the fur again. Perhaps he could come up with his own routine, then he'd be able to ensure that he remained strong and ready for the Spring.

Pulling up the drape of fur, he placed it about his shoulders and left it hanging loosely upon his frame. Clasping his elbows through the multi layers of cloth he tapped his finger against the curve as he suddenly switched topics. "We spoke of a sword previously. I am still interested in having one made. I am considering going to the market tomorrow afternoon. There are many smiths there, which would you recommend?"

Training indoors had been part of his own regime when he'd been receiving his own education in swordplay, but the houses of the village he'd grew up in had been built specifically with rooms just for such an activity. In this house that his family had made their own, the rooms were not as large and roomy but...

Nodding, he gestured deeper into the house. "The other sunroom has no furnace. I'll have Anna clear the tables out and the vases later today. It should be large enough for training until we can resume our outside work." In fact, it would feel good to hear the sounds of training in his own home. It was something he had missed when they'd left their old village in a rush...

Clearing his throat, he raised one brow. "If you're brave enough to venture to the market in this weather, I suggest you go to Hatoba's. He's done smithing for nearly forty years now and his swords are commissioned for leagues and leagues outside this village." In fact, his own sword and many of those in his collection, and Kito's, had come from Yuka Hatoba. As had many of those of the men he'd once fought with.

"He's at the far southeast corner of the market." Rising to his feet, with the intent of finding Nio and spending some time with his wife, he gave a light chuckle, then bowed slightly before turning away. "And you'd better take plenty of funds. You'll pay dearly for his work."

"Money is no issue. At least if you continue to pay me." Chuckling as well he eased up to his feet, but only went as far as a crouch before he held his hands out to the cauldron before him. There was a thoughtful silence, then he glanced over. "For someone that is so set in his ways... It comes as a surprise to me that his son has not been trained in the same manner."

Though Kito was getting training from somewhere. Even for his size the man was strong, quick. Not everything on his body was fat. Which brought attention to something else.. Looking upon Dakuro and Nio, they were both thin and lithe. Perhaps someone in his family was large; Dakuro's mother for instance. He suckled his lower lip slowly, contemplatively. "The way he acts.. it would almost seem that.. Hm, well. I suppose it is none of my concern. I am simply grateful that you have decided to train me in his sted."

Nearly to the screen, Dakuro paused, one hand upon the wooden panels. There was a part of him that wanted to tell Erik that indeed, it _was_ none of his concern...but yet, what would that accomplish? Honesty had been ingrained into him through his own training. If there was one thing that he knew, it was that there could be nothing less than absolute trust between a student and his master. Anything less would gain him only but distrust from his pupil.

Turning back slowly, he crossed to the furnace again, eyes upon the smooth wooden floorboards. He crouched, stared in the fire, wondering how much he should tell, and then met Erik's eyes over the steam rising from the heated bowl of water.

"Kito did train, for a time, then simply...refused to continue any longer. He did reach a near expert level, even had his own sword finished...but he grew too confident in himself and told me one morning that he was good enough...and he needed no more training." A low bitter laugh escaped him. "I fought him over it. It dishonored me, greatly. And even more so that he's taken to running with rough handed gangs in the main village. There's no honor to be found in beating a man to death with one's fists...and our servant is not the only woman he's struck I'm certain."

Again that phrase went through his mind.

_Like father, like son._


	35. Truthful Betrayals

**Chapter Thirty-Five:** Truthful Betrayals

For several moments Erik was silent, processing what Dakuro had stated. He couldn't understand why Kito would go against his father's training; it wasn't too strenuous, mostly unpainful, and it could be benefitted from greatly.

"I see.." Nodding slowly he rubbed his tongue's tip against the roof of his mouth and shifted his weight upon his feet. Bringing his hands together and briskly running the palms and skeletal fingers over each other, he then cracked his knuckles. Splaying his fingers out to the heat, he rose them above the steam, watching the gray-white wisps slip between the lengths and coil possessively around his hand, as if he had willed them to.

"It simply strikes me as strange when looking upon his parents. So different." His eyes lifted, meeting Dakuro's curiously, a question there that was unspoken. Shutting his fingers the steam collected in his palms, only to over flow in gentle billows and continue their drift upward.

_They _were_ different..._

He and Kito, as different as a father and son could be. Strict and demanding and harsh he was with his household, yes...but not cruel, as his son was. And Nio, who under her own unbending exterior was a soft woman, had never had that kind of temperament, even in her anger.

It was something that Erik had to have noticed even more so, but perhaps was too cautious to point out. But what he _did_ point out was more than obvious. While the height ran the same, the boy looked _nothing_ like either he or his wife. Both of them were slender, lithe. Kito was built like a bull, heavily muscled, fat, and wide.

Dakuro wondered if Erik perhaps had already guessed close to the truth. There was little use in denying it...and if anything it would bring this man closer to him, as both a pupil and a friend.

He stood to his feet, made sure the wooden panel was shut securely and listened closely. He waited for the steps outside to fade away before he turned to the other man.

"He is my wife's child...but he is not mine."

There was no expression given – even if the mask would've concealed it; his lips hadn't thinned, nor was there a crinkle at his eyes to reveal a furrowed brow. But it had to be obvious that he was thinking. He mulled over two things; either the woman had an affair – and looking upon Japanese customs, or just the honor of a man, he didn't think Dakuro would tolerate an unfaithful wife – or she was forcefully taken. It was that final thought that brought his lips to faintly twist.

"I see," he repeated slowly. "It is...noble of you to raise him as your own, nevertheless." It, at least, explained to him as to why the older man would accept training him so easily. Perhaps he had wished to try again and attempt to complete the training. "Forgive my curiosity but...do you know of the father, then?" _And if you do, why in heavens name haven't you slaughtered him_, was yet another unspoken question in that cool and calculating gaze.

He could see that unspoken question in Erik's eyes and it was one that he'd lain awake many a time and asked himself, even though he knew the obvious answer. So many times that he'd wished he'd had the power to do something, but knew that when it came to it, he was powerless and would be so unless...unless it was brought to his doorstep. Then, _nothing_ would keep him from punishing the one who'd wrought so much damage and harm into their lives.

"His father is known to me, yes, though they are ignorant of the other. I married Nio before Kito was born and she was already showing the first signs of carrying him. I took her away before he could ever learn of her pregnancy." Or rather they had been forced out...He wasn't sure how much to tell Erik, but there was little point in only giving half truths.

"Hioto Tashiro, he...was my lord and Master in our village. I was Samurai before I became a man of business. We wanted the same woman, Nio. And Nio had made it plain that she wished to be my wife...there was a great deal of love and passion between us. Tashiro hated it, and in time, hated me for it. He...well, I can imagine you know what he must have done to her one night. Despite our passion, I had been honorable to her in regards to bedding her.

"Once he'd taken her innocence and irrevocably damaged her honor he'd finished with her. Gave her back to me beaten and injured...and with child, unbeknownst to him. Only days later he turned his back on the Samurai and turned Ronin, raiders of villages, rich and powerful, but dishonorable. I refused to join...which was as good as a death wish. Nio and I fled as soon as we could, along with others who refused to join. Kito was born and I've raised him as my own." _And tried to ignore how much he is like his own father._

"Why did you not simply kill him? I imagine I would have done the same if someone has taken my wife." _Him_...with a _wife_. The concept was laughable. He had been given one before; a pampered pet of a harem slave that hadn't the _honor_ of serving the Shah in his bed chambers, and so was given leave to serve in his own.

_'One night buys you the rest of your life'_, he had told her, and she could not even bare to remove his mask and lay with him to earn her freedom. A comfortable, and rich freedom at that.

His eyes dropped again to the fire and he adjusted the lay of fur, curling his fingers tightly within the fine hairs. She had rather died than lay with him. Shaking the memory away before it drew him into a downward spiral of emotion, he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, working away the lingering threads of pain.

Swallowing deeply, he moved slowly over to the furnace and sat once again, staring at the rising steam. There was a great deal he had left out of what he had told Erik and some which would remain unsaid unless he was forced to speak of them.

"The desire to do so was there, do not doubt _that!_ I wanted his head and his genitalia to be strung upon the village gates! But..." he shook his head, "it was not that easy. If I had killed him, even if I'd been able to get past his guard without detection, which I certainly could have, the price on my head would have been enormous. I would have been dead in minutes after spilling his blood, and where would that have left the one I wanted to protect? She would have been seen as a co-conspirator and killed as well. We cannot kill blindly, Erik, and without thought of the consequences. Revenge has its time and place, but so does wisdom. I have to believe that his time and his punishment will come."

_Yes, revenge does have its time and place, does it not? _Absently he licked his lower lip, dampening the pallid flesh with a slow nod. He believed that intensely. He would gain his own revenge – it can be tonight, tomorrow, weeks, months even years later...Kito will pay for the humiliation and pain he had placed Erik through. What consequences would be gained if he had killed Kito that night months ago? Would it be seen as self defense, or murder? Though he was tentatively welcomed, he still was a foreigner, an outsider.

Raising a hand he scratched his fingers through the near-black strands of auburn and shifted them behind his ears, regardless of them fluttering back down again to frame the sides of his masked face. "Well," he began, pausing for only a second or three. "I can only hope that you gain your revenge sooner or later. Such an infraction cannot be left without retribution." He was a firm believer of 'an eye for an eye.'

Dakuro's answering smile was grim, his dark eyes narrowed to fine black slits as he focused upon the snow strewn scene that he knew existed outside of the window.

"Nothing would please me more than to see that man choking on his own blood on the end of my sword." The words were said with such venom and heat in the likes of which Erik had never heard him speak before in their acquaintance.

Once thought of and focused upon, the thought of violence, of the shedding of Tashiro's blood was one that was immensely satisfying. Even now, twenty-three years after it had happened, the hatred, the rage and loathing remained strong, though carefully concealed and meticulously bottled away. There was no point in letting it fester within him. It would only lead to dissatisfaction and an imbalance in his life.

He'd found peace in this small valley with these quiet people and the small village just beyond the hill, away from the clans of the Samurai and the treachery of the Ronin. Though still Samurai, a mantle he would never fully abandon, he no longer fought for his livelihood...but he would do so if forced to.

"If I'd been here the night that they slaughtered the Morris family I would have done so then. He is a coward, coming in the dead of night, knowing my family was away and killing instead innocent foreigners. He cares not--man, woman, or child." He shook his head slowly.

"If Anna had ran to her parents bodies while Tashiro's men lingered, they would have slain her--a girl child--without a thought as well. If I ever do shed his worthless blood, it will be ridding the country of the most loathsome of creatures."

He knew he shouldn't find amusement in those words, but he did. He, at least, managed to keep the smirk from showing up on his lips. _And here I thought _I _was the most loathsome of creatures._

Adjusting the fur and bundling it closer to his lithe frame, he nodded slowly. "Where is Tashiro now?", he asked, glancing away from the flickering flames to the man that sat nearby. For a moment it crossed his mind to ensure that the man wouldn't return and threaten the semi-comfort he had found here, but he didn't know these lands well enough to conclude such a thing. Though...he didn't know the lands of Persia either.

Lifting the fragile cup to his lips, he drank down a slow sip, contemplating. Raising his head his eyes traveled to the screen within his thoughts and he rubbed the pad of his index against the smooth porcelain. Another sip and he lowered the cup off to the side, then sank his arm beneath the layers again as he regarded Dakuro.

For some reason he found it refreshing to view the mans anger; perhaps because he was always too composed. Even one who's as disciplined as Dakuro fell to the violence of emotion, especially when it came to a loved one.

Eyes upon the flames of the small furnace, Dakuro wrapped one hand about the small cup to gather the heat within and took another long sip. Exhaling heavily, he let the tension die away, let the anger recede once more. Shoulders sagging gently, he lifted his eyes to the other man's.

"The last that I knew, his village, a rather small, secluded one--and not simple at all to find--is encamped in the foothills of that mountain." He lifted a hand pointing toward the shuttered window, but knowing that Erik knew the very one that he spoke of. It loomed over the valley, but was so large that it appeared close--but truly was a week or more's journey.

"Upon the opposite side, facing away from our valley here." He shook his head and smirked slightly. "A long journey and nearly impossible in this snow, but when the snow clears..." he spread his hands," a week at most with good horses. The fact alone that he took that long of a sojourn simply to send me a 'message' with Anna's parents' murders shows the lengths he will go to to...be, shall we say…_recognized_."

Setting the now empty cup down, he did not reach for another, his thirst sated.

"He will return, one day, but he'll bide his time, wait for the perfect moment. Even...even now, he retains at least _that_ bit of his Samurai training. Pride will demand nothing less of him, for the offense of my leaving... and in truth," he slowly sighed, "He...has been methodically murdering the former men of my clan that left with me...and their entire households."

Erik rose his eyes, looking upon the shutters as if he could see the mountains beyond. He knew which ones Dakuro were talking about, they could not be missed. In his silence he reached over, gathering the poker that had been laid aside and began shifting the logs for the flames to raise higher. Tiny cinders and flecks of ash sprung up into the cool air, only to disappear moments later.

"You know as well as I do that it is not training that stills his hand." Dual-colored eyes rose to set upon the older man, then lowered to the fire again. "It is the thought of revenge; to right how he believes he has been wronged. Any intelligent person knows to strike when the moment presents itself," he concluded, sounding as if he knew exactly what he spoke of.

If anyone did, it was Erik.

"He will eventually come here." The words were more of a statement than a question, and beneath the layers of hardened, ebony silk, his brows drew downward in a thoughtful frown.

"Well," he finally stated after a few moments of silence, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "If I am still present, do not think that I will let you have all the fun in fighting. Could not possibly let my employer become harmed. Then where would I be?" Lifting his hands to his sides slightly, brocaded shoulders rose, then fell in a shrug before he gave a feigned distraught sigh. "Without pay and homeless." Side glancing over to Dakuro he poked at the fire again, offering a bit of a chuckle to reveal that his words were in jest.

Nodding slowly, eyes upon the flames that Erik poked up, he released a low sound of agreement. "You are correct, of course. He'll bide his time and strike when I least expect it...twenty three years is a long time to plan an act of revenge. He will, if nothing else, be prepared in every way, have thought upon every _last _detail. I have not a doubt that he knows the patterns of my household. My walks, our lessons, our bedding times, down to the hour that we chop our wood, no doubt. Tashiro was a master at timing, and patient beyond the endurance of a normal man. And..." he raised his eyes to the dual-colored ones across from him over the smoke, "...he won't be alone. He'll have at least three, four others with him...so yes, I imagine I shall need you!"

Chuckling as well, he gave the other man a resounding slap on the shoulder, revealing the strength his old body still held in its muscles.

"I would indeed feel safe with you at my side, Erik. I trust in your skills and in you...above all others of my acquaintance now." His voice went quiet, thinking of Kito. Clearing his throat gently, he raised his head and looked at a clock that hung upon the wall.

"Well enough of this depressing talk. I'll have Anna clear the other room out later today for our training and we'll recommence on the morrow. He pressed to a stand and looked down upon Erik. "Do you plan to go visit that sword-smith soon?"

Mouthing a silent 'ow' he frowned and reached back to give a rub to his shoulder. Even if he had layers of padding, he was still slightly sore from shivering too much. It was a surprise that his teeth hadn't shattered with as much chattering they've been doing. He gathered the cup within the wrap of thin fingers and pushed to a stand, nodding lightly.

"It has crossed my mind. Though perhaps when there is an actual path to walk upon instead of snow and ice." Just how long that would be, he didn't know. Glancing down to the layers of furs, Erik tipped his head to the side, canine like.

"Or I can simply borrow every single fur within the house hold and have Anna roll me down the road." Thin lips twitched and he lifted his eyes to look upon the man again. "Though I fear that I may return as naught but a large snow ball. Then, pray tell, how will we practice?"

A wide smile cracked Dakuro's gently lined face and he laughed, a deep sound of mirth. It seemed that day by day the man's humor was growing, a jocular personality beginning to surface. Yes, dry most of the time, but a sense of humor none the less. The image of Anna pushing a large ball of furs and snow down the road to the market rose in his mind and he nearly cackled.

"Hmm, well, we cannot have that, can we? I don't believe I'd enjoy sparring with a snowman as the village children make." He bent and turned the empty cup upside down so that if Anna should pass by she'll know to take the tray up. "However, if you change your mind and are brave enough to venture out, we do have a rig that you are welcome to use. The horses seem to do well enough in this weather and you can bundle upon on the seat with furs and hot bricks." Stretching, he grimaced as old bones cracked with the movement, then moved to the screen...

* * *

Kito never did continue his path toward his chambers. Upon hearing the other voices within, he had backtracked and listened carefully. Hearing the approaching footsteps he stepped away quickly so he wouldn't be seen, but wasn't quite quick enough. 

Pretending to be just passing through the halls on the way to his room, he gave a glance and nod of greeting to his father as he finally continuedhis original path.His mind suddenly overwhelmed with anger, betrayal, and a sense of being long denied, Kito bellowed for Anna to cover the snarl he would have given the two men in the room if he let his temper get the best of him.

"Anna! Get dressed appropriately; I need you to run an errand to town for me!" His mind not as sluggish as some might believe it to be, began working furiously already. Swallowing back the rage, was already fixed upon what he needed to do.

He needed to get a message to one of his friends who owed him a favor. He had a village to find.


	36. Pawn To Black King

**Chapter Thirty-Six:** Pawn To Black King

If it was possible, Erik would make sure that he'd never see another blizzard again.

Sleep didn't come easy during the heights of the storm; with the sound of whipping wind outside and small balls of ice raining upon the tile roof, he couldn't help but wonder if the whole house was going to blow away. Only thing louder than the storm itself was the clicking of his teeth, at least until he collected all the extra furs to bring them to his room. Both Nio and Dakuro found great amusement watching him literally waddle around until he decided to remain in his room, coming out only when food was served and practice was needed – a thing he looked forward to for all the strenuous moving allowed him to warm up considerably until he was stripped down to his hakama, breathing heavily and dripping with sweat. Only to be frozen again moments later.

A week ago, during the turn of the month, the storm had simply...stopped. If it hadn't been for the great snow mounds upon the sides of the house one would think that it never existed to begin with. "It is part of the training," Dakuro had told him when he tossed him a shovel so he could help clear the base of the house and the path as well. He failed to see just how that was possible, but when his muscles began burning, he fully understood that it would help strengthen him, and surprisingly kept him warm as well, despite being in shin deep in snow.

With his plain white hemmed black awase donned as well as a thick jacket, he fingered the straps of his mask. As little as he took it off, he wasn't aware that it had been frayed – perhaps when Kito had yanked it off of his face. Replaced now with a white domino, the same he wore in Russia, he believed it was time for a bit of a change. The black felt fitting during his last weeks within Persia, his mood darkening, enticed by the hashish and opium. But now...he felt differently, regardless of still being slave to the potent drug.

The mask placed to his bedding to be fixed later, he strode to the paneled screen and pressed it open. "Anna? Are you ready?" he called out gently into the house. While the snow hadn't completely melted away, the noon-day sun was warm, and he wanted to take advantage of this break in blistering cold to tend to some errands, and perhaps check on the state of the buildings as well. Even though he knew to work upon them during the winter was unproductive – Dakuro agreed as well – he was still disappointed in himself that he didn't get at least something done besides perfecting the designs.

Spring would soon come, he hoped. His routine was becoming too familiar and he longed for some type of change.

In her small room, Anna was finishing up dressing.

Today she was _finally_ getting out of the house after being confined by the frigid weather for nearly a month now. While the air outside remained cold, it was nowhere near the freezing temperatures of the previous month. Spring was on its way and soon the ground would be soggy with the melted snow and the first growth of tender shoots of grass and native flowers. Spring was a beautiful season in Japan...except for the rain. The rainy reasons were near torrential downpours and it only meant that the majority of her time would be spent on all fours cleaning up muddy messes. But she also found summer to simply be too hot...

Sighing a bit to herself, as she reached to pull the length of gray linen obi off her shoulder to bind about her waist, her eyes drew over to her bed and the small pouch laid there. Her brows drew down in a soft frown. She still could not believe it that Mistress Nio had given her a small allowance for this trip to the markets. She'd said that she felt Anna deserved a bit of her own money from time to time and to make certain she bought herself something nice. _What on earth will I buy?_ In all the fifteen years she'd been under the Kyomi's roof, she'd not been given any kind of money or gift...

Only one present had been given to her and it lay spread upon her bed, the glistening dark fur pelt a comforting warmth that had kept her from chilling too badly this winter. And if she curled into it at night and imagined to herself that it still held a remnant of his warmth...then it was no one's affair but her own.

Shook from her foolish thoughts, she lifted her head at the sound of Erik's gentle call and bent to finish securing the obi. Smoothing the sleeves of the gray awase, she reached for her coat, a simple jacket that fell to her ankles. Slipping her pouch of money into the pocket of the coat, she lifted a hand to press along the tightly bound back bun of her hair, then stepped from the room sliding shut her screen and crossed to his own. Stepping within, she looked up at him and gave him a surprised glance than a warm smile that reached the eyes that matched her clothing perfectly, calm and misty gray this morning.

"I like that new mask, Erik. It suits the dark of your hair nicely." She folded closed the sash of her jacket. "I'm ready to leave whenever you are."

"It is not precisely new," he murmured, shuffling through his pouch to ensure that he had the proper amount of coin. He didn't know how much it would cost, or if he had to pay when he gave the order, bbut was bringing plenty with him for just in case purposes.

"I made this one while I was in Russia." Closing the pouch he tucked it into his jacket and glanced over to her. He looked her over a moment, then nodded as she appeared to be bundled up nicely. Stepping out of his room he made his way to the front door and pulled it to the side with a soft hiss of the sliding screen. Pulling the jacket close to his neck he took in a deep breath – while he might not like the chill of winter, the scents of the surrounding land were refreshing, seemingly heightened by the frigid temperatures.

Tucking his hands into his sleeves he stepped down the stairs and started off down the recently shoveled path. "I do hope you are prepared for a bit of a walk. I would like to check on the buildings either before, or after the trip to the market." Perhaps a short visit to Kaleb needed to be made as well. While Erik had been exposed to cold weather – given, nothing as harsh as this winter – the Persian was far too use to his blistering sands and scorching winds, broken only by a rare case of rain. The man was probably frozen stiff.

"Russia?" she asked, tilting her head up to his, her eyes curious. A soft musing sound came within her throat as she pulled her boots on and secured them mid calf. "You seemed to have been everywhere, Erik. Will you tell me someday about Russia?"

The chill of the afternoon air hit her as soon as the front door was opened, but it was tempered by the warmth of the sun that shone overhead, turning the snow to diamonds and so much sugar about them. Lifting her chin to the warmth, her eyes closed gratefully and a low 'mm' was in her throat.

"I have missed feeling heat so badly! I can only imagine what it must be like for you, coming directly from such a hot place..." Stepping off onto the dirt road, still frozen and hard packed, at least their knees were not buried in the snow that had covered the ground previously; Erik had been to thank for that and she'd been grateful; last year it had been _her_ and the lazy stable lad shoveling.

Looking up to face him again, she gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders, her chin dropping back to the ground. "I have no place in which to mind it to begin with, Erik, but I would not complain even if I did. I've needed to get out of the house and a long walk, hard though it may be, is just what I need."

"It is murder," he grunted, glancing over the grounds that the snow covered. He almost considered taking the horses but wasn't prepared to stand in the cold stable trying to saddle the animals. "I do not recall ever seeing so much snow in my life." Rather enjoying how it crunched beneath his feet, he purposely – but discretely – sought out the thicker mounds of snow, just to feel it compact under his step and bring the gritty sound into the air.

A walk would do them well. Even though he had been practicing every day, this allowed him to warm up his legs by actually going somewhere instead of moving around in a smallish area. Lowering his eyes to the ground he let his thoughts drift to his prior travels, to Russia.

"I cannot say that I had lived within the rich country sides, or towering spires as you might have heard in tales and the like.." Lifting a hand he made an idle gesture as if brushing off the thought of the decrepit city, and tucked his fingers back into the jacket's sleeves, curling around his narrow wrist. "I had preferred to live in rather...disreputable surroundings, making my presence known as a magician. I was the best there, you see. Though, unfortunately, my reign did not last as long as I would have liked."

He shrugged, turning a glance down toward her. "What I did get to see of Russia's landscape could not be compared to that of Japan. The winters were cold, yes. But I tended to remain in doors, tinkering with my inventions; having little desire to linger around the masses unless it was for performance. And even then, afterwards, I returned to my tent."

Just the thought of the tent brought to mind the fragrant oils and incense that used to weigh heavily within the room, one that was shrouded completely in blood red. He recalled the first meeting with the Daroga, and couldn't help but allow a ghost of a wry smile appear upon his lips.

"This has most certainly been one of our hardest winters yet. I don't know if every winter will be quite _this_ bad, but..." she shrugged one snugly wrapped shoulder, tilting her face up to his far above her. "The snow is beautiful in its own way."

Bending as they walked, she scooped up a mound of snow in her bare hands, briefly lamenting that she didn't have a pair of gloves, and began smoothing and patting the sphere between her fingers. A faint blush covered her cheeks and she laughed softly, before nodding gently.

"I admit; what I have heard of Russia was all manner of grand buildings with striped spheres, men in fur hats, czars, and fairytales in the countryside. But I suppose when you are a child, you only hear of such..." Trailing off on the memory of Mama reading storied by her bedside, her small form nearly lost in the covers, listening avidly, she cleared her throat and continued to roll the ball, forming a perfect sphere of crystal white.

A fascinated expression was tilted up to him and she raised her brows with a smile. "A magician?" Would he never cease to amaze her, enthrall her with all that he was? "I have never seen magic performed...And you were the best? I would very much like to see you perform one day..." She looked down at the sphere, her fingertips now frozen through and going scarlet with the cold.

"What did your performances consist of?" Tossing the ball of snow back and forth in her hands, she lifted her gaze to his.

His shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug, and he looked forward again, watching the path they were taking. "Simple illusions," he began, then pulling a hand out from the sleeve, he side glanced toward her, and in mid-toss of the sphere, it vanished in a snatch. He splayed his impossibly long, thin fingers, turned his hands over, then pulled back his sleeves. Anna gave her hands a bewildered look, then stared at his own, even peered into his empty sleeves.

By all appearances, the ball had vanished.

"Slight of hand," he murmured. A soft roll of delighted laughter erupted from her when he turned one fragile wrist and there the sphere was, balanced delicately upon his fingertips. Taking it gently with two careful fingers, she studied it, turning it in her hands and noted the marks of her own touch. He shrugged, tucking his hand away again. "Things of that nature. Sometimes I played...and sang."

'_Show us your face, Erik, and let us hear the devil sing!'_

Though it had been a few years, the words of the surging crowd were still rang in his ears as if it was but yesterday. He tucked his hand again, clinging to his wrist loosely and hardly noticing at the chill that lingered. Silent, his regard of the path was almost vacant.

"Simple..." she mused, grinning. "Nothing such as that could ever be simple to me. It would take me_ months_ to learn such a thing!" Rolling the ball again between her hands, she gave him a curious glance, her brow furrowing slightly.

"I have heard you sing once...long ago. It was your first night here," she said quietly, remembering the fire light of Ryoko's home, the notes of music drifting on the air, and the wordless melody of that incredible, _beautiful_ voice...A soft smile passed her lips.

"You were only humming...but your _voice_..." Suddenly realizing that her own voice had become soft with the memories, she blushed hotly and turned away. With one last toss of snow ball into the air, she threw it high into the air, then watched it come down with a resounding splatter.

Pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the snowball's death, he glanced down at it as they passed, then rose his eyes to her face. "Enjoyed my voice, did you?" Beneath the white silk a brow lifted, and he forced a wan smile to his lips before looking forward again. Adjusting his jacket he fought down a shiver and released a gust of mist into the air from his nostrils. _Why did the winter have to be so bloody cold? _

Straying from the slightly worn path that would lead them to the markets, he directed them to where the first of the buildings were located; already he could see one in the distance. "I cannot say I have sang much since then. I have been too preoccupied with our teachings and the buildings." Where it wasn't something he wholly looked forward to before – the designs of these buildings seemed almost tame compared to the work he had done in Persia – he couldn't hardly wait until the seasons turned.

He was growing bored of being idle beyond the renewed training.

Walking beside of him, she let a soft smile come to her face as she studied the way the snow grew softer here, a less taken path by others in the village, and the tiny flurries that drifted up with every step.

"Yes, I enjoyed your voice. I think it would be impossible _not_ to. You...you should sing again, Erik." She shrugged one gray clad shoulder as if it meant nothing to her. "I, at least, would like to hear you." _When will you learn to keep your mouth closed?_

Frowning disgruntledly, she lifted her eyes to where they were headed, the path here completely untrodden, the snow perfect, rolling away like a field of glistening sugar, the branches of trees above them heavy with the clumping of it. Nearly silent, peace hung heavy in the air here, as if the world waited for something in a breathless hush. Following him, stepping softly as if she was almost afraid to disturb it, her gaze drew up to the building in the distance.

"I don't believe I've ever seen your buildings before. I've seen your designs on occasion..." The house, distant as it was, already looked as if it would be one of the most elaborate in the village or the surrounding areas. It would belong to one of the influential families, no doubt, perhaps even Kito and his future wife...unfortunate woman whoever she may be. Snorting softly, she shook her head softly and tucked her hands within her sleeves to follow him.

"They are not exactly how I desire them, though they will be once the winter breaks. Undoubtedly my ideas for the designs will completely change...a terrible habit, I am afraid." He shrugged his shoulders, turning his eyes up to the sky. "The families will be able to move in soon enough. Perhaps by then even dearest Kito will find himself a woman." _Where has that boy been anyway?_

Pursing thin lips he dropped his gaze again and began kneading at his wrists within the sleeves of his jacket, warming them as well as his fingers. _Perhaps we are lucky and he fell into a drunk sleep outside_. Smirking softly he shook his head then dampened his lips. "I am quite disappointed that the weather has stilled all progress. I had a completion date set."

She turned her eyes up to his as they moved down to the building and rolled her eyes slightly.

"He is _supposed _to marry one of Hoshi's daughters, his eldest. Master Kyomi drew up the marriage contract only a day or two before he disappeared." She frowned lightly, then reached up to rub at her nose, the tip turning a brightened red with the chill of the air. Working her fingers over the curve, she sniffed, a damp, unpleasant sound, then tucked her hand back within her sleeve. She'd woken that morning with a chill, more so than usual, and her brow a little clammy. She usually caught a bad cold every winter, but so far she'd been lucky and hadn't gotten ill. It seemed her luck was running out.

Clearing her throat, she stepped over a snow covered log, then caught back up with him. "I wonder where he's gone...It's unusual for him to risk leaving in this cold of weather." Shaking her head, she looked toward the building.

"Spring will come soon. If I know you...", she chuckled, continuing: "You'll barely show yourself at the table for working till sundown to finish on time."

"Mm, yes. Though I cannot say that my workers have the same stamina as I do. They will wish to go home and be with their families; Kaleb will remain, but even he has to indulge in sleep. While I may be determined to finish at the date I set I am only human. It will not be possible without assistance."

He had to be a comical sight to the natives. While they walked around in their winter clothing – which was only a bit thicker than their summer – he was bundled from head to foot. More than once he had been poked fun of, but he didn't mind too much; he knew he looked ridiculous, but it was better than freezing.

Squinting his eyes closed at a gust of wind that stirred up the fine powder below them, he lifted a hand to wipe the bit of snow from his chin and jaw, then tucked his fingers back within the sleeve just before pausing in front of the first house. Studying it quietly, he frowned behind the mask, then turned his gaze in the direction of Kaleb's house that rested not too far from the lot. "This one will have to be redone," he murmured as he turned back to the house. "It is not coming along as I had initially planned."

She turned and studied the house, but to her untrained eye, she could find not fault in the design or progress, but he knew best, so she kept her mouth closed and merely nodded in agreement. Sighing softly, she studied the house, and a thought occurred to her, one which she'd never really explored...

She'd never have a house of her own...She'd never have a place that was _hers_. She'd never have a husband to hold her or make love to her, a family to belong to...children to nurture and raise. None in this land would ever want a foreign wife. She'd not be good enough for anyone's son...

The thought brought a sudden wave of grief over her, and she swallowed tightly over the knot in her throat. Closing her eyes, she turned back to him, tilting her chin back to study him. _They will wish to go home and be with their families..._Was he not in the same situation? A foreigner, no place that was his, no wife...Could he want.._.her?_

Berating herself for even thinking of such a thing, she looked back to the house. "I think it's a beautiful place."

One brow lifted, and though she couldn't see it she could hear it in his voice. "You do? Though it is hardly finished." Lifting a hand he gestured toward the snow covered building with a light fan of thin fingers. "How can you find beauty in something that is incomplete? Imperfect?"

Pressing his fingers back within the sleeve of his jacket, he adjusted the drape of the cloth and fur with a roll of his shoulders, then turned away when he came to realize that the question struck a little too close to home. He knew she accepted him, his face – at least when she didn't have to look at it – but any thing more? The concept was laughable, even if he couldn't bring the emotion to his lips.

Shuffling through the snow dunes, he approached the small hovel and cast a glance upward to see if there was smoke coming from the house due to a lit furnace. Nodding lightly to himself he lifted a hand to knock upon the door without looking back to see if she followed.

She stepped back and looked at the building once more, then slowly lifted her eyes up to his. Her brows drew down, then softened with a sad smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

_Don't you understand, Erik? _Hadn't she shown it? Couldn't he see it in her face when he looked at her? But...but maybe he didn't want to see it. Why would he? Yet, she still felt she had to tell him. But...but not today. Maybe not ever. Yet, as she turned away to follow him to the much smaller house of his friend:

"Perhaps it is because I see what it will be when it is finished. Or...or I simply find that that there is beauty within it despite its imperfections, regardless of what others think of it." Turning her eyes to the ground, she waited while he knocked.

He glanced toward her out of the corner of one gold-hued eye in a way that made her feel a bit uncomfortable and she ducked her head to watch her feet shuffle back and forth within the snow. Erik's gaze turned forward again when Kaleb came to the door, also bundled up with a tin cup between his hands, its contents steaming.

A smile curled his mustached lips and he nodded lightly to Erik, speaking within his native tongue. He hadn't quite grasped Japanese yet. "Good morning, Erik. Come, come," he motioned them in and paused, looking down to Anna – who furrowed her brow at the strange, musical language – then to the taller man that swept past him to enter the warm home.

"Should I speak English then, I wouldn't wish to be rude." Trying not to laugh as the architect crouched at the heat and held his hands out toward the metal, he turned to Anna again with a greeting smile at the consenting nod from the suddenly silent man. "Welcome, please, make yourself comfortable." Unclasping the cup with one hand, he motioned to the sparsely furnished room then returned his fingers to the warmth of the drink as he took a sip.

She looked up at him, relieved when he spoke English. "Thank you, sir," she said softly, then moved to a small chair that sat in one corner and perched upon the edge, her hands clasped in her lap. She cast a questioning look over at Erik, wondering why he had suddenly grown so silent. Looking down to study her hands, she wondered if she had simply said...too much.

* * *

His hands were nearly frozen through. His nose he could swear was about to fall off. His feet...he no longer felt them at all. The unhappy horse beneath him was trembling with the cold, misty breaths exhaled from the large nostrils. 

Yet, Kito felt none of it.

All he felt was a heavy sense of triumph. His eyes narrowed and a smile, one containing no warmth, spread across his face under the muffler of thick wool.

_He'd made it..._

Far below him on the mountain's side, shielded by trees now dead and stripped of their leaves, but heavy with snow, sat a village, half-hidden by the shadow. _This is where I belong..._

Mouth turning into an almost feline grin, he started off down the slope.


	37. Inside The Cuckoo's Nest

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: **Inside The Cuckoo's Nest

Smoke drifted lazily from stone chimneys set into the thatched roof houses, no more than huts, truly.

Kito fought down a sneer as he and the horse made their way quietly into the clearing where the gathering of houses lay. It was almost archaic compared to the luxury of the village that he was used to dwelling in. Here the buildings sat squat, right into the snow. In the village under the shadow of the other side of the mountain they were built upon stone foundations, then crafted elegantly, precisely, with neat, clean lines. This was very nearly disgusting in its simplicity.

But, he reminded himself with a shudder of loathing, he was _not_ Erik and an architect with an eye for such things. The creature would never find it in himself to make houses like these. For that reason alone...he'd like it.

The snow compacted under the horse's hooves, the quiet crunch of it and the shift of leather and man were the only sounds on the bitterly cold air. It was silent here. He didn't even detect the movement of families in their homes and a chill of unease raced up his spine. One tightly gloved and bound hand strayed to caress the brushed steel of his sword's hilt.

For a brief moment, he cursed his own stupidity. What if Hioto Tashiro no longer lived? He was the age of his own father and Kyomi was a rare thing in his advancement. Could this even be the wrong village? What if he'd made all this trek for nothing!

He very nearly cleared his throat to see if he could perhaps rouse a servant...then found he had no need to.

Almost without warning, so swift, so _silent_ he had not even heard them, he found himself facing a ring of men, swords drawn, faces hard and grim in the early morning light. He nearly shamed himself and cried out in fear, but instead gritted his teeth and drew his own sword with a hiss of steel against sheath.

He spoke directly to the man that faced him and his horse and was barely aware that terrified female and child faces watched from doorways and windows. "I'm here to see Hioto Tashiro. I have news for him from the other side of the mountain." He waited, studying each face, outwardly stoic, inwardly shaking, expecting death at any minute. He'd never think to blame himself for never heeding his father's training.

There was little movement between the men, and one would almost think them statues of it wasn't for the misted air that gusted before their faces. Finally one glanced to the other, and their swords were drawn down slightly. The one before him, Hanzo, motioned to him with the sword.

"Off your horse. You..." he pointed to one of his men. "Take it to the stable." The directed one nodded, sheathing his sword again and waited for Kito to come down from his horse before collecting the reins, then pulling the mount away he started off toward the local stables.

The one that was apparently in charge sent two of the others another glance, and communicated his order for them to follow with a slight jerk of his head before he backed up a generous distance, then finally turned his back. The others warily sheathed their swords and gave the man breathing room. They didn't bother veiling their curious, and suspicious regards. "Who are you?" Hanzo glanced over to his shoulder, curtly addressing the stranger.

Breath nearly left his lungs in _whoosh_ of relieved fear as the swords were sheathed, a chorus of steel to wood, and Kito slowly dismounted. Letting the man ordered to do so take the reins of his mount from him, he watched them move off, then faced forward and to the back of the man that glanced over his shoulder at him.

Reluctantly, he sheathed his own sword, then gave a brief bow of courtesy, though he hardly had respect for this stranger...and surely the clan leader himself wouldn't deign to come out to interrogate a new comer. He cast narrowed eyes about him at the others' suspicious faces, then met the eyes of the one who had addressed him.

"I am Kito," he began, leaving off his birth name as he had the suspicion it would earn him a blade in his gut. "I'm from the other side of the mountain. I've come to see your Master on business of some importance. It's a matter and I must deliver it in person and in privacy. It is a...sensitive subject."

He knew enough from the lessons drummed into him from his father to reach down, unbelt the sword from about his body and hand it over, two hands lifting it. "I come unarmed to him. You may search me for more weapons if you desire." He watched the man carefully.

Trusting in the abilities of the two following behind Kito, Hanzo didn't bother looking back at the stranger again, not even to take his sword, only continued toward one of many huts. It didn't look any different from the others; just as plain, just as small, and just as unremarkable.

Kito followed the other man to the small hut, slightly angered that he had not even had the respect to take the sword from his hands and honor the deference he had given him. His teeth gritted and he strapped the sword back on, loudly, inelegantly, not bothering to hide his irritation. _Do they have no honor?_ Kito nearly chuckled at the irony of that thought.

Pausing at the door, Hanzo motioned him to remain before he went into the hut, shutting the door behind him, making Kito all too aware of the silent statue-like men behind him. It wasn't too long before the guide had returned, opening the door wide open for him to be directed through.

The inside of the hut was a plain one; sparse furniture consisted only of a few mats, and a table in the center of the main room. Panel walls separated the other rooms. Kito had to again fight the urge to sneer. What _lord_ lived like this? But it became obvious that this was not a home to be lived in.

He was not here to judge, Kito reminded himself. And he wanted the ear of this man, not his scorn...or his sword. He'd have to tamp down his reaction. After all, Hioto Tashiro was the key to his taking care of that interloping corpse and finally taking over his father's household and inheritance...on _his_ terms. When Erik was gone, he'd _make _his father see. No...he'd make _Dakuro_ see. _This_ man was his father...not that old bastard upon the other side of the village. Would he use this information to manipulate Dakuro? He could give his whereabouts to Tashiro...then he'd have _complete _control of the situation, he and he alone. Perhaps...perhaps he'd even take his destiny _here_. It all depended upon what this man had to say.

Following behind Kito, the trio maintained their silence until they had reached the center room and was introduced to the back of a painting man. "Lord," was all Hanzo murmured before he moved out and closed the door. Whether or not Kito and Tashiro were absolutely alone, only they knew. It was doubtful.

Not bothering to turn around, a slim handled brush was manipulated between two thick, yet dexterous fingers. Dabbling the bristles into the slick, oily paint, it was lifted and the mountain range upon the fine parchment was elongate.

Absolutely nothing was stated, and the only sound that filled the room was the gentle crackling of the fire place and the swipes of the brush.

When the others left them alone, he studied the back of the painting man, waiting for him to speak...but minutes ticked by and still he did not. At last he cleared his throat. Best to get to the point. "My lord," he began quietly. "I've come to see you about a man I believe you might know. Kyomi Dakuro?" He pasted a quiet, measured smile upon his face.

Abruptly the brush stopped, leaving only the fire to signal that time hadn't suddenly paused.

Dipping the brush within a nearby cup, he swirled it, getting rid of the paint inside of the murky substance, turning it darker. Placing the easel aside, he untucked the sleeves of his kimono and brushed them down, allowing them to fall about his wrists again. "The name is familiar," he finally spoke, his deep, throaty voice matching the rest of him.

The moment Tashiro turned and faced him, there was a shock of recognition and Kito's eyes flared wide, then settled back to their usual, deceptively indolent half-lidded gaze. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself reflected back, though aged. The same wide shoulders, barrel chest, thick, heavy body narrowing to a waist certainly trimmer than his own, then thick, muscled legs. Surely he was of compacted muscle. Even though Tashiro had aged, his years of fighting and daily practicing kept him fit.

At first Tashiro was also struck with some strange sense of familiarity, but he brushed it aside for the moment to get to the heart of the matter.

He motioned Kito to rest upon one of the mats as he approached another. "What about this man makes you pass through dangerous terrain and more dangerous territory?" Tashiro lowered, folding his legs comfortably and settled his hands upon his knees. His back straight and eyes fixed upon the young man, his stance was aware and militaristic.

Kito let another smile pass over his features, then he bowed deeply. Following Tashiro's gesture, he took a seat upon the mat, and crossed his legs underneath him, hands resting on his knees. Facing him squarely, he decided that baiting this man would probably get him no where...and he himself hated to be baited and toyed with, as Erik knew well.

"Kyomi Dakuro raised me as his son with his wife, Kyomi Nio. I learned recently that you were his Lord and..." he paused, questioning how much he should say. "Kyomi was a traitor to you when you chose to form your own...clan away from the old ways. He did not choose to follow, but left with his wife. A foolish decision, no doubt. He now lives in hiding from you, a cowardly trait."

It wasn't quite true, Kito knew. Dakuro did not so much hide as rather simply exist outside of Tashiro's reign and try to stay out from under it.

"I am...very dissatisfied with my father and his recent decisions and have been for some time. We are...nothing alike. And for good reason." He paused, unable to resist the flair for the dramatic. "Apparently, another man had my mother before my...father, so to speak...and I am _that_ man's son."

By time he had finished, Tashiro's eyes were narrowed and he studied Kito, just as intently as he had been from the point he had stated 'raised me as his son'. The familiarity returned, but this time at full force making him realize that he was basically looking at a younger version of himself. Kito had some very mild features of his mother, but other than those minor things...he was Tashiro's son through and through.

"So you are," was the only thing stated before a period of silence settled. How ironic was it that Dakuro's son – no, _his_ son – would come to him after all these years. Was it fate, then, that something that was rightfully his had made itself known?

There was little to no reaction to this news, though. He wasn't going to suddenly warm up to him knowing that he was his blood. What if Dakuro had formulated some sort of plan... No. No the man wasn't that under handed. Dakuro's hiding cowardice was proof enough.

"You've come from over the mountain, you say?" To think...his old nemesis had been right under his nose all along. "Come to complain about this man's decisions?"

A sigh of relief nearly passed his lungs at the man's acceptance, but he managed to only smile slightly, then give a deference of his head. Carefully mulling over what to say and _how_ to say it, he smirked a bit and shrugged one shoulder.

"No, I am not here to complain, I am here to find out if you still seek my...surrogate father. I have overheard that you wish to have retribution for his defection from your clan. You see," he smoothed one meaty hand over his hakama, tracing a pleat. "I am to inherit from Kyomi, yet...he has placed everything within the hands of another man, a _European_." He spat the word as if it was a foul thing.

"A deformed freak who, I suppose, is some self-proclaimed genius and is Kyomi's architect. He even teaches this man _Bushido_... It is a disgrace and I want the foreigner gone. The old man is a fool and would give this other man all control over what is rightfully _mine_...But, I suppose it is not mine after all. I merely come to let you know that he still lives." He shrugged carelessly.

The news granted brought a thick brow to slowly rise and Tashiro snorted faintly. That sounded just like Dakuro; forever bringing foreigners into his home. It wasn't the first time he had heard of this, and it only sickened him further upon gleaning the knowledge that he was teaching a European one of their greatest arts and beliefs.

"What has stopped you from killing the European? Surely an architect cannot be that difficult to be rid of." His militaristic stance broke slightly as he leaned a fraction, his eyes narrowing in telltale curiosity as he regarded Kito.

"And I find it interesting that you would tell me of Dakuro's existence. A man who has raised you for...twenty five years now? Close enough. If you know of me, then surely you know of the hatred between us beyond clan matters..."

"This man is..." he paused, a sneer forming on his lips, then he hissed out a breath and met his father's eyes. "...Different. He moves like lightning caught, faster than I've seen a man move before on two feet. He's a freak of nature, a monster. He wears a mask because he looks like a dead and rotting corpse. I saw his face once..."

An amused laugh rolled off his tongue, then was bit sharply off as he remembered the sensation of his air slowly being choked off.

Clearing his throat, he continued. "He's highly favored in my household and Dakuro will hold no tolerance for the man being insulted or harmed. He's training him to fight and...and already he is nearly as proficient as my father. It's...unnatural."

He considered his next question carefully. _Why had he told him_? Did he love his surrogate father, the man that had raised him? Perhaps he once had, but that interloper had destroyed it. Dakuro was not the same man he had once been, Erik had changed him. He was weakened in age and mind surely, unworthy of Kito's admiration, weak and cowardly from running from this man before him when he should have _fought_.

"Yes...my mother was between you. She loved him, you wanted her. You took her, he hated you for it." He shrugged. Rape was a fact of life and Kito had certainly done his share of it. A woman teased, flaunted herself before a man and he decided to take her? It was her own fault. "I owe nothing more to him...he has a _new_ son now," he sneered bitterly.

"And what of your mother?" Idly he wondered of Nio. Once an entrancing young woman, she had, undoubtedly, aged beautifully. But that was the keyword: aged. It was unlikely that she would still be in his favor, as he preferred the young and fresh to the elderly.

Kito once again shrugged and made a non-committal sound in his throat. She was his mother, again blood should have demanded loyalty, and she'd certainly loved and cared for her son in his growing years, but just like Dakuro, she'd grown soft in the head since the arrival of Erik. She'd begun to show their servant, who was little more than unworthy baggage, respect and admonishing him in front of the other men when he spoke sharply to her. It was embarrassing and disgraceful.

He had no more feeling for her now than he had for his father. And like father, son's interest and loyalty was quickly waned if his own vanity and needs were not accommodated.

"She's just as in awe of the architect as Dakuro is. She berates me for punishing our servant girl, another filthy European, and she's more inclined to see to the needs of strangers than her own son. I care not what happens to her."

Was Tashiro surprised that this boy would suddenly turn upon his parents after so long simply because of the interference of some outsider? Not in the least. He would have done the same thing had his father treated him as no more than a stranger and turned to some foreigner as if the were blood. Did he wonder if Kito was telling the truth? Again, no. This was his enemy that the boy was plotting against. Even if he had come to Tashiro about the architect, surely Kito knew that retribution would be had against Dakuro.

"Interesting..." Tashiro murmured softly and, rocking forward, he pushed to a stand, letting his hakama's hem flutter toward the ground, swirling around sandaled feet.

Though the weather was blistering outside, there was a comfortable warmth within the room, coming from more than just the fireplace that laid crackling several yards away. "Come." Gesturing Kito to follow, he made his way away from the mat and toward the paneled door across the way.

Kito rose to his feet and followed to the door, noticing that there was a faint movement just beyond it. A guard that had been utterly silent all this time stepped off to the side, leaving room for Tashiro and his company to step through unblocked.

They continued through the hall until they came to a decorated room. Kicking aside a rug Tashiro reached down and took a hold of a handle. Giving it a twist, the trapdoor was pulled up and he motioned Kito to go down the darkened staircase.

It crossed Kito's mind, briefly, if Tashiro was be pleased to find his son...or if he'd simply see him as a means to an end and dispose of him before finishing off what he started.

It was better left unsaid that Kito would do the very same in his position.

Kito knew full well what would likely happen to his father, of sorts. Did he care? No, he didn't. Would he _willingly, knowingly_ set a trap for Dakuro and ensure his death, as surely this man would seek? He wasn't too sure about that as of yet.

But if Dakuro's death was an unfortunate result of avenging himself against Erik and falling into league with his true father, then so be it. It was life. Death happened and one had to accept that. It wasn't as if there was any great affection lingering with him for his parents; there certainly was not. Kito's mind was like a narrow tunnel that took no turns, no curves, and never back tracked.

All he could see was his ultimate goal; getting rid of Erik, then taking over what was his. He may not be Dakuro's son by blood, but he was his heir and what was his would be Kito's, even if he had to share the wealth, so to speak, with Hioto Tashiro. As it was, he'd never gain his inheritance if _Erik_ persisted in ingratiating himself with Dakuro.

Glancing down the dark staircase, he hesitated, but clodded down the steps – quiet never a learned trait with him – then turned, waiting as the other man descended. He nearly turned, snarled at that shove and let the insult of being treated so show upon his face before he merely nodded obediently, showing this man far more respect than he had ever showed Dakuro. He turned and moved down the hallway, wondering where exactly this was leading. A bite of fear gnawed at his stomach.

The further they walked, the deeper beneath the earth they were being lead, so deeply that the chill upon the surface was no longer felt, and only the warmth cast by the lantern heated the area.

Kito was slightly unsettled by the feeling of being followed by the much quieter man, uneasy with the niggling sensation that if he made one wrong move, he'd drive a sword right through him.

Swallowing, a slick coat of sweat rested upon his brow despite the subtlety of the heat, Kito led the way through the tunnel, unsure of where he was going. It seemed that there were no turns, no lead offs, but only one direction that led straight and he followed it carefully, casting looks over his shoulder every few minutes. It seemed that they'd been walking for hours, or perhaps it was just the traces of that remaining fear, but he sighed quietly when they came to a trap door at the top of another set of earthen stairs.

Moving up into what appeared to be a temple, Kito cast a long glance about studying the interior of the building as he waited for Tashiro to make his way up.

The clang of steel upon steel rang in the air, the odors of sweat, metal, and opium blended together into a coppery, sweet tang. Statues of the Gods were still arranged here and there, but were no longer knelt before and worshiped or honored. No, it seemed that this had become a place of violence rather than one of peace.

Kito felt at ease immediately. Even the smile he turned upon his father was one of contentment. Tashiro regarded Kito a moment, then let his eyes travel over their surroundings before looking back. "All you see here remains here. Remember that."

He wouldn't be pleased if their hideout was exposed by some stranger. Yes, even though they shared the same blood, Kito was still a stranger to Tashiro and would be treated accordingly until he showed himself to be more of a warrior than the coward he had proven to be thus far. After all...he _had _ran away from the foreigner to another that could take care of the problem.

It was the fact that Kito transversed miles of terrain in the blistering cold for days – weeks perhaps – then entered into an unknown, dangerous village, that kept Kito from being considered a complete coward.

Kito bowed in accordance to his request, then straightened. "Of course," he agreed as he unwrapped the sash of his short coat and draped it over his arm, then stripped off the long muffler that had kept his chest warm, that also joining the coat with his gloves as well.

Where the hut had been modestly furnished, the room that they entered was a different matter all together. Three decades of raiding paid for the elaborate decorations not only outside, but inside of his own private room.

Nudging Kito inside he turned to someone nearby, barking out an order for saki and tea. Closing the door behind them, he approached the sitting area to take a seat upon one of the thick, soft cushions.

"Now...let us speak."

The room that greeted Kito's eyes was much more to his liking, _more_ than to his liking. It appealed to his very nature, for if there was anything he preferred to be surrounded by, it was wealth. And it appeared this man had it in abundance.

It had always disgusted him that his own father had wealth to go around, yet he had always chosen to spend his money upon the more simplistic things, such as weapons, his home, and the everyday comforts, rather than the extravagant and unneeded. After all, if one had money, why would one choose _not_ to showcase it. It seemed a waste not to.

He studied the room carefully...Yes, this was why he had come here. Not just because he wanted Erik dead, gone, and erased from his life for good, not just because he was sick unto death of his father and his disloyalty, not just because he wanted his way...but because he had never _fit_. He had always felt that he was far above the mundane of the Kyomi's life. He belonged to violence, to lust, to the gaining of his desires, not to the suppression of them for another's benefit. This...this place. This was where he belonged. He took a seat with a slow smile to Tashiro.

"So...where shall we begin..._Father?"_

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Edited this with a killer headache, so please forgive any typos you might have found.I'll fix 'em asap._


	38. The Offer

And after a much needed intermission... Thanks for those that's been patient during this slight dry spell. Being sick and working sucks!

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**Chapter Thirty-Eight: **The Offer

Summer returned and with it the warmth and fresh growth and life of a new season. Spring had brought flowers and the delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms back to the air, along with warm rains that took with them the last of the chill left over from one of the harshest winters the Kyomi household had survived.

The change was a very welcome one.

The men could train in the heat of the day again and the women could find themselves an hour or two to sit in the gardens and tend to the flowers and native berries that grew there. Furs were shed and put away with relief, the lighter clothing brought back out.

It was a very welcome change to find herself outside again and in the stables, permission granted to ride when her duties were finished for the day. The horses had felt the confinement keenly as well, and were eager to be exercised again.

Mistress Nio had taken to joining her in some of her chores, much to her surprise, and Anna looked forward to the quiet evening hours spent together in the sunroom, the cool night air drifting in as they worked on the intricate embroidery of kimonos and the soft length of silk that created intricate obis for the household to wear.

It was a season of many festivals and gatherings in the village and new clothes were always a must. Anna sat upon the wooden floor, legs tucked under her as she stitched a swirling dragon winding up the lapel of a silken jacket when she heard the Masters talking quietly in the other room. It was a familiar topic:

Kito.

No one had seen him, none had heard from him, and even his friends had no word of his whereabouts. Despite the ill will between father and son, Dakuro had searched for him with disappointing results. The boy was gone...he still did not know how to feel about that. He was almost ashamed to feel relief that mingled with the worry. But...the younger man was nearly twenty four now and able to make his own decisions. He only hoped that he was not dead. However, in all other aspects, all was going well. He and Erik had furthered their training to the point that the other would very soon surpass him. It was both exciting and disappointing...

Chuckling to himself, he brushed a kiss over Nio's cheek then rose to step outside, noticing the servant bent over her embroidery. She didn't realize it, but what she worked on was a gift for his pupil. It was time Erik had a proper garment if the occasion arose that he might join them for an event outside the home. He was not ashamed of the architect wearing what would identify him as a member of his household...his family.

Though there was a breeze that stirred salted strands of black, the air was warm and pleasant, and carried upon it the subtle scents of the surrounding foliage. While in the seasons prior to the harsh winter the architect remained in doors unless taking a stroll in the garden or training, he was found more often than not out in the field, learning other skills among those in the village.

Erik always believed that attacks given from far away were impersonal, though that hadn't stopped him from dabbling a bit into archery. He never knew if he was going to end up homeless and starving again, and it was a skill that could come in handy should he cross an area with suitable game. Archery combined with horseback riding was a challenge, indeed, but one he was more than willing to accept.

Noko had turned out to be a suitable stallon for Erik; they were both determined, stubborn, and with tempers that could be easily provoked. At least before the horse was further tamed, and it seemed that with the waning of its temper, Erik's too made a bit of a turn around. Dakuro's training and patience saw to this.

With the short bow tucked near the back of the plain pack saddle, Erik's long frame leaned over the animal's spine as thin, skeletal fingers scratched soothingly through the coarse, chestnut fur. He spoke close to the animals cupped ear, which was turned to take in the sound of his voice, and with a jerk of his head as if he understood the murmured words, Noko trotted over to the piled stack of hay with a flick of his tail. Collecting the arrows from the leathered target, each of the heads were checked before they were slid away in the saddle-side quiver.

"That is five more points for me, Makoto," he called out to another who sat, grimacing, upon the back of a dun colored mare. Pale lips twisted in a smug smirk as heels thumped into the sides of the stallion, and he rode over to stop next to his gaming partner.

"Luck, that's all it is. Pure luck," Makoto muttered softly, then chuckled. Noticing Dakuro standing upon the porch, a hand was lifted in greeting before he rode away to the starting line, determined to get more than one bullseye this time and wipe that smug look off of the man's face – what he could see of it, anyway.

Standing upon the porch, Dakuro watched the two younger men practice their archery. It was no surprise to him that Erik was soundly beating Makoto. Though the other man was good, far better than many he'd seen, there was ever that uncanny ability of Erik's to master anything and everything that he set his hand to do.

How the man had enough time between the buildings, his sword lessons and the lessons he knew that he and Anna exchanged to spend these hours learning all there was to know...he had no idea. It should have not been a surprise. Dakuro had learned that if Erik set his mind to it, it happened.

Stepping off the porch, he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his light silk kimono and moved into the gardens that bordered the stables and the wide expanse of ground that made up where they rode and shot. As he watched them, a sense of pride welled inside him for the masked man.

Over the past months, the architect had become more like a son to him than Kito had ever been. It saddened him to know that the child he had raised and gave a home had shunned all that he was. Yet...it satisfied him greatly that Erik had become so much closer to he and his household. If he wasn't correct, the man had begun to see himself not as simply an outsider, a visitor, but as a native. Someone who belonged. It was how Dakuro wished for him to see himself.

He meant to speak very soon to Erik about permanence. A home of his own...perhaps a retainer given by Dakuro...surely a wife, children...and a place in his will. He needed a legacy, and Kito simply wasn't it. The home was easily acquired, but the wife? That would be more difficult, yet surely arrangements could be made. He reached them, then took a seat upon a stone bench to watch, signaling to Erik he'd like to speak to him later.

Nodding lightly to Dakuro, Erik turned his head, looking over to Makoto as he prepared his bow, then with a strike of his heels into the horses flanks, she was lead into a steady gallop. Horse and rider were one, professing of his skill before he even fired the bow. Bi-colored eyes carefully watched his method and style as the horse came closer, and drawing the bow string taut, Makoto waited until he started to pass the target before firing.

With a hissed whistle and dull _thunk_ the arrow sank deep, embedding almost dead center of the target. Once he had gotten in a considerable distance, he wheeled the horse around, preparing another arrow to be shot. Erik nodded faintly, appraising the man's skill, even as the second and third arrow were released to strike home.

When the fifth finally hit its mark, Makoto neared the target to tally the score, which he called out to Erik, grinning like a jackal. "I'm catching up," he jauntily stated to the masked man who narrowed his eyes slightly, though no in form of malice.

"For now. Let us rest the horses for now, I must speak with Dakuro." Makoto nodded before the two of them slid down off of their mounts, and while Erik neared his teacher, Makoto went over to the target to stuff more hay behind the slightly sagging target. With the reins held in one slender hand, Erik lead the dark colored stallion over to where Dakuro was sitting.

With a deep laugh still in his throat from Makoto's boasting, Dakuro raised a hand giving a farewell to the other man, then pressed upward from his seat, and strolled toward Erik and his mount, hands clasped behind his back. "He is catching up...but you will beat him. He tends to get over-bold."

Turning on his heel, he gestured with his head that he wanted to be a goodly distance from the target area before they spoke. What he had to say was of some import and he didn't wish the other man to carry tales back to others who didn't need to hear yet.

"I have been meaning to speak to you for some time now of...making some changes." He cleared his throat, looked up at the younger man's masked profile. "I'm an old man, Erik. I know not how many years I have left and I need to have my affairs in order. I...I need an heir. And..." he shrugged. "Kito is not it." He looked straight ahead as they walked, not knowing if the architect would balk at the chance or reach for it.

His feet came to a stand still, and as Dakuro continued forward, Erik stared quizzically at the back of his head. Noko wanted to keep moving, though, and gave a sharp nudge to the back of one bony shoulder to get him moving again. Not even thinking to berate the stallion, he caught up with Dakuro again, remaining quiet for several minutes before he spoke.

"Do you not have other sons besides Kito?" He paused briefly, then continued, his tone dry. "Making a European your heir would surely be frowned upon." While he wasn't overly protesting, he wasn't accepting either. He simply didn't understand the decision, regardless of the master-student relationship that had formed.

"They are married and younger than Kito. One is married to a statesman's daughter and is assuming her family's mantle. The other is in the military and travels, always traveling. They live far away and are too busy to visit an old man." He chuckled to himself, then turned to look back up to him. "I should like to leave my house and legacy to someone that will care, who will continue to give the Kyomi name honor and be wise with what I entrust him with."

He shrugged one shoulder, then reached out a hand, drawing it down the sleek length of the stallion's neck. "I don't care for the opinions of others and in my position, I don't have to. As long as they receive their houses, they don't care who my heir is." He looked over his shoulder and up at him. "You will eventually have your own home...perhaps a wife and a child. You will need a name...I need an heir. And..." he cleared his throat. "You are more of a son to me than Kito or the others ever were."

For once in a long time Erik was truly at a loss for words. His man was offering him everything he had always wanted; a true family, a place where he felt accepted. Though the man before him didn't know of the truth. He didn't know what was behind the thickened silk of the mask. Anna did, though he didn't think she would have told the others; it wasn't her business to tell.

Adjusting his grip upon the reins, he turned his eyes to the clearing that laid before them, avoiding the observing gaze that was upon him. Not only was there thoughtfulness in the dulled sheen of amber and blue, but a torment he could never speak of. Inwardly he had blanched at the idea of a wife; he'd been presented with such a thing before, only for the woman to prefer death than a single night with him. A night that would have guaranteed her freedom.

Raising his free hand he smoothed his fingers along the length of the horses nose and scratched between his eyes beneath the length of hair. "There are many things you do not know of me, Dakuro," he spoke quietly, though with little emotion.

Already he had begun to think of possible wives for the man. Hoshi and others had young, nubile girls, beautiful creatures who would make any man a fitting wife. Surely Erik could have no objection to such a beautiful woman as his, yet...the man wore that mask for a reason and he suspected only two others knew of what lay behind it. That morning he'd disappeared was still etched in his mind...

Then he thought of Anna.

They spent a great deal of time together and often the time was that Dakuro heard laughter coming from their lessons. Nio had been the first to point it out to him...the way that the girl looked at him when he wasn't looking: like he'd hung the moon for her. They were both Europeans...He turned his head back to Erik and frowned.

"It doesn't matter, Erik, what you have done, or been, before you came here. I'm not concerned with it, only what you have done since you have been in my household and you've proved yourself as nothing but worthy." He suspected that while the wealth would be satisfying, it was the thought of family and belonging that meant the most to this man.

Collecting the bit of mane in his fingers, the tendrils were pressed between, coiled around and twisted lightly, much like a napkin of long ago. This incident wasn't the same, though; he wasn't asking permission for something that should be granted to a normal person, but it was being offered to him.

_A place to belong... _He thought to himself. _How long will it last, though, Erik? Each time you think you have found a nitche, even a small one, the tentative sense of peace was shattered. _"At the very least I will give your flattering offer consideration, Dakuro." He looked at him again, dropping his exposed chin in a gentle nod. "For now, it grows late and I find myself becoming hungry." A rare thing heard from him, indeed. "I will return Noko to the stables, if you will excuse me." Stepping back slightly, he employed a half bow, and began leading the horse off without waiting for a word from the man.

"Please do," he murmured, then turned to watch the silent man lead the massive stallion away and to the stables beyond. For several moment, he simply studied their departing backs, then turned and made his way back to the house, hands clasped behind his back in thought.

It was clear from Erik's silence, his tension, which Dakuro had become very adept at detecting over the last year, that perhaps the topic of commitment – both to a wife and staying in one spot and making a life for himself – made him distinctly uncomfortable. Even..._wary?_ He needed time...time to think over the offer. It was not a decision made lightly and Dakuro respected his pupil's careful method of considering and weighing every option. But in the meantime...he'd speak to Nio, to learn if she was agreeable to Erik taking their servant to wife. He didn't imagine there would be any real objection to such a move.

Entering the house, he looked quietly upon the girl, still seated in the sunroom and working on the embroidery. She was an obedient creature, but he'd seen the snap of temper in her eyes in regards to his son before. Surely there existed passion there. He suspected Erik might find her very agreeable on many levels. Moving deeper into the house, he found his wife and while both unsuspecting parties in this plot went about their own tasks, asked his wife about a potential wedding.

As night descended and Erik was sequestered away in his room, he laid upon the simple bedroll, staring up at the ceiling, going over the comments that Dakuro had given earlier that day. He almost expected the man to approach him again about it in the morning, but was pleasantly surprised when he hadn't.

The more days passed, the more he believed that Dakuro came to understand the impossible reality of Erik having an actual family. Perhaps he spoke with Anna and found out what laid behind the mask. There wasn't any curious regard of the hardened plane of white silk during training, and either older man was discrete in his curiosity, or he still didn't know the truth.

After nearly two weeks, Erik brushed aside the conversation, deciding that worrying of it will get him no where. Deft and dexterous fingers pulled the fine needle through the length of blackened silk, causing the red of the thick thread to blossom before it was tucked again, and he paused to look upon the embroidery he had completed thus far.

The full face mask was nearly finished; he only had to give the final stitches to the dragon. In a mingling of red, green and silver, the creature crawled up along the right side of the mask, its head poised right above the brow ridge while claws sunk into the ridge below his eye, temple, jaw and where his mouth would be. Too fancy for everyday wear – even if he did enjoy flattering himself with rich clothing – it was being made for a performance he had agreed upon for an up and coming festival.

Dakuro had not forgotten his intention to make Erik his heir, but had rather decided that the best course would be to let the man think upon his offer and what would accompany it before approaching him again on the matter. If there was one thing that he had learned about the other, it was that he would _not_ be rushed. Even in the matter of teaching him Bushido it had taken him months for him to agree at last. He didn't expect anything less this time. Leaving him be seemed the best course...However, tonight he planned on perhaps easing at least a portion of his worries over his stay in their country: the matter of a wife to warm his bed and bear his children.

He'd spoken to Nio and found her almost delighted at the prospect. She too had believed there to be more there than simply a relationship of student and teacher, but rather a trust and an affection. Anna he'd spoken to only a few hours ago. At first she'd been shocked and very quiet, almost thoughtful, then had simply nodded in her usual quiet way and agreed.

Neither Dakuro nor his wife had seen the almost fearful hope in her eyes as they'd left her to prepare for the evening meal. Even now her hands shook as she filled four dishes with steamed rice, then ladled over the stewed chicken and mushrooms she'd prepared for the meal, her own plate she'd set aside to be consumed in the kitchen.

To marry Erik...to be his wife.

The thought had her going from moments of heavy shaking at the idea of being his to thoughts of what if he shouldn't want her, but another. The fear of rejection was great, but so was, in equal measure, the hope. The Masters had not informed her of when they would offer her to Erik as wife, but she hoped that she would not have to be there for it..as cowardly as that was.

At nearly seven in the evening, she had prepared the tray, daydreamed a thousand times their wedding and what would follow, flushing with memories of her dream, then heard the Master call for Erik to come to the dining room. Even looking at him now...how would she retain her calm in the face of who could be her future husband?

The call barely got through the fog of his concentration, but lifting his head, he listened then placed the mask aside. He could smell the scent of the rich food upon the air, letting him know that dinner was finished, or at least nearly. Brushing down the shapeless hakama, he made his way over to the screen to push it open, then stepping out and closing it behind him, he continued his way to the dining area.

As he walked, he began rolling up his sleeves, tucking them into the strip of cloth that held them at bay, and entering the room, he finished tucking the second, leaving his lanky and pale arms bare. Lowering to a sit upon the cushion, he adjusted his hakama to drape it over his jutting knees and gave a slight nod to both Nio and Dakuro. Though he wasn't too hungry, he had gotten into the habit of sitting with the others as they ate, only now and again picking at his food.

The tray in both hands, and steam rising from the bowls, Anna moved quietly into the dining room where the three were seated and bowed carefully, then served each their own setting, her own sleeves also carefully pinned back. Her own kimono was still the grey, though Mistress had purchased her new, softer dove gray material and allowed her color in the form of a soft green obi. It was little, but enough to appeal to her feminine want of pretty, soft things.

She hoped he liked it. She found that his opinion mattered to hers above all others, no matter how many times she told herself not to let herself think that way and along those lines.

Erik was seated to her right and from under her lashes she studied him quietly, her eyes flickering over his form – she wondered if he noticed and blushed slightly – then rose from her kneel and bowed once more and turned to go to find her own meal in the kitchen.

"Anna?" She turned at Master Kyomi's voice and nodded, eyes lowered. "Bring your meal here and dine with us tonight." When he said no more, she felt her pulse skitter to a quicker pace at the base of her throat and she nodded, then hurried into the kitchen where she smoothed a hand over the low bun at the nape of her neck, gathered her own bowl, then hurried back to take a seat at the table, resting back onto her heels.

Left hand reached, scooping up the sticks that laid there, and just as he positioned them, he glanced up curiously at Dakuro. Anna was never allowed to their meals, and while that was something he silently protested against, it was a fact he had come to terms with over his year here.

Turning his head he glanced to Anna as she hurried off, immediately noting the addition of color to her other wise drab garb. Though a lighter gray, it was hardly appealing the eye as would be brighter colors. But it wasn't unpleasant to look upon, especially with more than just the black sash; the jade accompanied it very well.

Maintaining his silence, he turned his eyes back to the meal, and lowered his hand to the table, waiting for Anna to arrive before he'd begin eating. Though with how his mind suddenly became active with thought, his desire for the white rice he was poised for faded away. The sticks' tips tucked beneath a clump of rice and he held it there while casting a suspicious glance toward Dakuro.

She had the feeling that perhaps she might be setting herself up for a grave dash of her hopes, but all the same she couldn't seem to stop the flutter of happiness that settled around her heart. Dakuro caught the suspicious glance and wondered if he might be making a mistake. After all, these two young people's happiness were at stake...yet why should they not wish to have one another?

Clearing his throat, he shifted his gaze to the architect, then formed a smile. "Erik...I've made no secret of the fact that I consider you as a member of my household and my...family. You are my student – and an excellent one – and are a great help to my home. I should very much like to offer you something that will make you one of mine and the villages." He nodded to Nio, who reached down and sat back up with a silk-wrapped parcel that she handed to the other man with a bow of her head. "I had Anna create it for especially for you..."

Seated, she glanced to the parcel with a slight frown, then her brow cleared and she felt a pleased flush upon her face. She'd had no idea she made it for Erik, but she knew the black set of silk garments embroidered with jewel toned and silvered dragons coiling about the family's name was some of her finest work. And to see Erik belong to this home...it brought a soft smile to her lips and she turned her eyes to him...and she could no longer hide the hope in her face that soon she would be part of him as well.

It was no surprise that he had begun to feel as if he was being closed in. With Anna at his side, Nio carefully watching him, and Dakuro doing the same, he felt as if they were observing his every move. A subtle tension lined his spine, hidden beneath the draping of the kimono, and slowly he lowered the sticks to rest along the side of his plate, then turning he collected the parcel from the young woman's hands. Placing it upon the bow of his crossed legs, he looked upon it, then loosened the silk to expose the clothing laid so innocently within.

The thin tips of his fingers brushed over the embroidery and behind the mask, his brows drew downward in a light furrowing. He had been serious when he stated he wanted Erik as part of the household, the family. And truly...he didn't know how to react now that it was right there before him. Part of him wanted to thank him for the offer and accept, and yet a stronger part wanted nothing to do with it. There was only pain in his future if he did.

Folding the silk over the clothing again, he gave a slight nod, maintaining his silence. Later he would speak with Dakuro. Now wasn't the right time.

He only nodded and Anna felt her throat tighten with disappointment. _He doesn't like it_...She looked back down to her food, then slowly picked up her sticks and pushed a lump of rice about her plate. She wished, quite badly, that they would dismiss her back to the kitchen, where at least she would feel even again in her surroundings. Whereas only moments ago she had been looking forward to this moment keenly, she now was dreading it. If he reacted so dispassionately to the gift...how would he react to Dakuro offering her to be his wife?

At the other side of the table, Dakuro judged his reaction quietly, disappointed as well. The giving of the family name had meant... a great deal to him and to Nio. There was more than just the name being offered, but belonging, security, and safety as well. As much as he was loathed to admit it, he would be hurt if Erik rejected his offer. But would the final gift perhaps sway him? Would he want a wife? Would he want Anna?

He looked toward the girl, studying her bowed head and her pale cheeks, then lifted his gaze to Erik. He cleared his throat. "There is one final thing...then I will say no more and the decision will be yours to make and I will accept either way." He glanced between them again, watched the servant lift her eyes to Erik's profile. "We spoke of a wife...of children, a family of yours should you remain. We would be...honored...to give you Anna as wife." He did not mention that Anna was agreeable...it would be better if that come from her, later in private.

Though there were vast differences between his time in Persia and now, he still listened to this offer with a deeply set dread, if not mild irritation. What right did Dakuro have to give a wife to anyone? Didn't he think Erik able enough to take his own? And what of her? After seeing his face...surely she would blanche at such a thing. He glanced side-ward to her.

She couldn't seem to force herself to lift her gaze to his. It was as if her head now weighed far too great an amount and her neck couldn't bear the strain. Yet she found herself flicking her lashes upward and finding his dual-colored gaze with her own, and felt her breath catch in her throat. Surely everything she felt showed in her eyes in that moment...yet she couldn't find a reason to feel ashamed..._yet._ There was no fear there in her eyes, no disgust, but acceptance and...hope?

His tongue's tip faintly passed over his lips, wetting them as he glanced back to Dakuro. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something from him, anything besides the awkward silence that he held. He only ended up saying the obvious: "I...do not know what to say. It is quite a shock." There was no doubt in his mind now that he would have to speak to Dakuro, and to Anna as well for conversations that would be the hardest in his life.

He collected the parcel from his lap, smoothing over a corner his fingers had twisted, and placing his hands upon his thighs, he looked down upon the food. Where he had been slightly hungry before, now looking upon the selection made him almost feel ill.

His reaction had her dropping her eyes back to her plate. It would be a shock to her as well – a devastating shock to her – were it not for her living in this country for the last sixteen years. Would he speak to her later? Or would she be left totally out of this?

Dakuro merely nodded, knowing that he would gain no more response than that. Erik would not give an answer to such a personal offer in such a public way. It simply wasn't his nature to do so. He gave a soft smile to Anna, who now looked even paler if possible, then turned his attention to his own plate, wondering when Erik would seek him out.


	39. A Decision Made

After holidays, sicknesses, surgeries and other random problems – including dreading another chapter since it's close to being over – we finally toss out something.

We'd like to take a moment and give a thanks to all of our readers that have been extremely patient with us during these times of troubles. Not only for this story, but for all of ours. Your patience and understanding is well appreciated.

We'd also like to thank our editor, who I fondly call 'Nana. You've been one of our biggest supporters of this story and did well in whipping this chapter into shape. Thank you!

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**Chapter Thirty-Nine:** ADecision Made

A little under an hour later, Dakuro exited his chambers, leaving Erik within.

With a thoughtful expression on his lined face, he moved slowly down the hallway and into his and Nio's chambers. Within, he found her sitting by the furnace in the center of the room, reading. She looked up at him, lifting a questioning brow. He smiled, gently, then slid the panel shut behind him. "We have much to discuss..."

In her small room, Anna sat upon her bed, running a finger slowly over the pale green of her obi, set against the drab gray of her kimono. It had been an hour since she and the Mistress had left Erik and the Master together to discuss the terms of Erik's passage into the family. An hour since they had announced to him that she would be given to him as a wife.

_His wife..._Her, a wife. She had never pictured it, had never dared allowed herself imagine it so greatly that she might begin to want it. She was a servant, and a European at that. Japanese families simply didn't let their sons marry women like her. She'd reconciled herself to the fact that she'd be alone for the rest of her life, one of servitude, obedience, and smothered dreams. Now...here was her chance to be a man's wife, lover, and the mother of his children.

Excitement slid through her...tempered by a fear like she'd never known. Her eyes lifted to the horizon beyond her window. The moon rose over the mountains in their little valley, coating everything in silvery light. She couldn't help remembering the nights she'd met Erik by the pond, the awkward conversations, the moments where it seemed he might reach out to her...until that one night. Her dream seared like fire through her mind. If he married her...she'd be his, in every way. She should have been afraid. But she wasn't. Rather it was a slow, sensuous slide of anticipation and coiling excitement that formed within her.

Her eyes drifted closed and she breathed in the night air that always came through the poorly sealed window, exhaling slowly as she searched the view again. For the first time that she could remember, she realized the knowledge that she would live here for the rest of her life didn't fill her with the same desolate loneliness that it always had before.

Erik didn't know how long he sat there, looking upon the table that had house plans strewn across it; ones that detailed minor changes that he felt needed to be done. It was just one of many things that he and Dakuro spoke of before the conversation about his place in the family came into play. It felt like an eternity, though Dakuro had left his room only a few moments prior to him lifting his eyes to glance to the panel and rice papered door.

_Family..._

The word felt not only strange upon his tongue, but in his thoughts. Him...part of the family. Only one other, a man whom had likewise been a teacher of his, had seen him as son, before he was forced to leave. Was it just happenstance, or a continuance of the ill luck since birth? What would happen here, if anything?

_Family..._

He was family now.

_Only as long as I need to remain... _

His eyes dropped to the gift that had been given to him, and he lowered his hand, brushing long, thin fingers over the embroidery,The corner of his mouth twitched in a short lived effort to smile. She had worked so long on it. "Anna," he lifted both his chin and his voice, calling out to her through the near silent house.

"Anna, come here. I wish to speak to you."

In the silence, she heard his voice call her name. Blowing out a breath that had been pent up in her lungs, she lowered her hairbrush to the floor by her small mirror as she studied her face in the glass, moving over her features and the hair that she'd taken down, upon remembering the conversation once in his room when he'd instructed her to leave it about her shoulders.

Her smile was small, but tremulous, as she rose and crossed the hall on silent feet to his door. There she shut her eyes, breathed a small, quiet prayer and knocked just before sliding the panel open and stepping into the room. When it had slid quietly closed once more, she moved to his side and sank into a kneel, her eyes moving over the garment in his hands that she had worked upon for months.

Her best work...

It was fitting that she'd made it for him. Perhaps he would wear it on their wedding day. And she hoped that the Masters would allow her to have a ceremonial kimono, even a simple one, to wear for him, so she wouldn't feel quite so...plain.

"Yes, Erik?"

"I wish to speak with you," he repeated, for a moment stupidly at a loss for words. A puff of breath escaped him. _Very articulate, Erik. _Raising the garment, he turned over the plans to keep the drawing chalk from staining the cloth, and placed it upon the back of the parchment.

"Dakuro and I..." trailing off, he smoothed his hands along the cloth, getting rid of its wrinkles, both visible and not, then lowered his hands to rest upon his lap. Drawing to silence, truly not sure how to continue, dual-colored eyes turned to her, resting upon her own gaze at first, then down to the jade-hued obi that wrapped taut about her waist.

"It is a nice change, that color. I did not get to say so in the sitting room. Perhaps now you will be allowed to wear something other than drab gray."

Her brow furrowed as she studied him. Him...nervous...with _her?_ It was almost laughable. Rather it should be _her _that felt nervous.

Butterflies beat at the inside of her stomach. She could swear she heard her pulse in her ears. Yet on the outside she was coolly composed, though her eyes held an obvious warmth as they moved over him. She placed a hand along the obi and laughed softly in her throat.

"Thank you...I wish I had an entire kimono of this color, but..." she shrugged faintly, raising her eyes to his as she lifted a hand and swung the fall of her painfully straight hair behind one shoulder.

After a moment, his eyes rose again. "We have spoken of you, Anna. And of your status."

"My...my status?" It wasn't quite what she'd been expecting to hear...but she supposed their marriage would have an impact upon her status. _You're getting ahead of yourself..._Again, she fought back a spell of nerves and tucked her hands into her lap.

"And...what did the two of you decided...about me?" There was a soft note of fear in her voice, as if part of her expected this fragile bridge between them to shatter at a moment's notice.

The tip of his tongue swathed a path over his upper lip, lightly grazing the edge of the pristine mask as he loosely threaded his fingers together, tenting his thumbs for a slow rhythm to be tapped. He had killed people;, stood in the face of danger without batting an eye;, spat on the customs of the powerful., And yet now he suddenly felt unbelievably infinitesimal, as if his steel spine had melted into something a lot more yellowish. Though just as she did well to maintain her composure, he did too, for the most part.

"We have decided that you will no longer be treated as a servant, but as part of the family." He nodded slightly, meeting her eyes for a quiet moment. Already the family had begun treating her differently, though she still remained a servant girl to their eyes. Would it be changed now that she no longer held that title? He didn't know.

She didn't know what to say for a long, silent moment. Her eyes dropped, fixing upon her hands where they knitted into her kimono anxiously, then looked back up to him, searching his eyes.

"I...I'm not a servant any longer? They will still need me, won't they?" The fear of being abandoned was one that lived with her day and night, less so since they had begun treating her with a bit more respect, but still very much a real possibility to her.

"They won't send me out? I know that I would be free, but...I'd have nowhere to go..." She lifted a hand and kneaded at her brow. "But if I'm family, they should let me stay, shouldn't they?"

Perhaps she was frightened because it seemed that at long last a life that could be her own was within her grasp.

She lowered her hand and looked up to him, wetting her lips with a hesitant pass of her tongue. "And you? Are you...accepting them?" _And me?_ She left the last part unsaid. She wanted him to ask her...not her remind him of it.

"I..." the breath he had drawn to continue was held, then after a few seconds of hesitation, he released it with a faint frown behind the mask. "Dakuro knows of my wander lust, and is fully prepared for me to leave once I no longer need to work for him." Thin lips tipped up at one corner. "Though I believe that might have given him leave to give me more homes to build, simply to keep me here until I am old and gray, or he passes. Which ever comes first."

From their tented state, he drew his thumbs down, layering them within the webbing of one hand, and along the outer-thumb of the other. "I enjoy my time here, but this is not the place for me. Even if welcomed as part of the family..."

Restlessly raising a hand, he tucked back a few short strands of hair from his face, propping them behind the curve of an ear, only for the stubborn dark auburn locks to sweep forward again, becoming a stark contrast upon the curve of one white-silk false cheek.

_He didn't plan on staying..._He'd just said as much himself, that he planned on leaving when he felt the need to go or when his purpose here was fulfilled. He would leave...

She swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat and nodded, silently. "The Master will always have more for you to do, I'm sure...he wants you here. I think that he's come to see you as the son that Kito did not wish to be." She turned her face up to his and smiled gently. "I think he's almost come to love you as his son..."

She studied him quietly, her eyes searching his. He had made no mention of her, of the offer to have her as wife. _Did he want her?_ She had thought long and hard over how she felt about him. And she'd come to the conclusion that she didn't want to live without him. He'd come to fill a void in her life that she hadn't even known existed. She'd found in him a kindred spirit...and a man that made her happy. Nothing ever seemed dull when he was near, but rather seemed a colorful existence that he painted for her.

Perhaps...he wondered if _she_ wanted _him_? Did he think that the face behind the mask, though horrible, still frightened her?

Raising her eyes to his, she reached up and swept the loose strands of auburn tenderly behind his ear...just as she'd always wanted to do. "And me, Erik? Would I remain behind or...will you want me, with you?" Everything within her seemed to be waiting upon his response.

It was an unconscious movement that had him draw his head back with the approach of her hand. It was nearly enough to have her pulling her hand back, but she kept it up as he flicked a quick glance to it, keeping still for her to shift the strands from the mask, leaving only a few slender strands to cling against the silk. He lifted a hand, gently curving his fingers over the bare of her wrist, and pulled her hand down.

When his hand rose, and his cool fingers curled about her wrist, she felt her reaction to his touch, let it move through her and grow until she was unable to keep the smile from her face. He wanted her...he was holding her wrist so gently...he just _had_ to want her.

"Anna..." another pause, and he frowned anew, breathing out a soft sigh. "I do not know _what_ I want. What I _do_ know is that I would not be a proper husband for you." He had taken another breath to go on, to explain each and every sordid little detail, but was there a reason to? She had seen his face, and even if she did not seem to fear him any longer, it was surely a sight that she could never forget. There was so much he had thought of in that short period of time between the announcement and this moment.

So much that it had given him a headache.

Her smile slowly faded from her face. The hand still in his grasp trembled slightly and with a small nod, she dropped her gaze to the floor below her knees.

"Oh." Everything within her that had been waiting now seemed to be pinched and tight within her...it was suddenly hard to swallow. She looked back up to him, a frown upon her face.

"If it's your face...Erik, you could take off the mask near me and I wouldn't mind. Your face just doesn't..._matter _to me." Then a thought occurred and she could swear she felt something dim and fade within her.

"Is it...me? Am I just...not what you want?" She didn't know which would hurt more...that he didn't trust her or that he didn't want her.

"It matters to _me_," he suddenly snapped, then set his jaw firmly with a slow exhale, staving off the heat that had flooded into his chest upon seeing her cringe. Old habits die hard and even though she hadn't been struck in quite some time, there was still that natural instinct that told her when a voice raised, it meant pain was coming.

"No, Anna. It is not you. It has _nothing_ to do with you, and _everything_ to do with me." The feel of his hand loosened from her wrist, and he pulled it back to rest his fingers against the line of his lap. "There is just so much you do not know of me, so much I do not _want_ you to know." What right did Dakuro have to say something about marrying her, especially_ in front_ of her!

He could see the anticipation and light die from her eyes, and he cursed inwardly. She was looking forward to a positive decision, and he could only ask 'why'? Why did she wish to live with something like him for the rest of her life? She mentioned that he could remove the mask around her – an idea that caused him to blanch – but what would she truly be thinking?

Was she simply saying that she accepted his face, only to be found later waking herself up with her screams from the horrible dreams of that night? Of any night he might remove the mask? Or was her desire to leave this place so great that she would try to convince him to take her with him? He didn't think her so under handed, though. Yet still that 'why' remained.

He was so..._imperfect._

Breathing as slowly as he, watching all of her foolishly pathetic hopes die before her, she risked a glance up at him and studied his masked face quietly. The silence seemed to stretch endlessly between them until it felt like a very real weight pressing down upon her. Finally, with her voice whisper soft, she looked down to her hands that once again sat knotted in her lap and spoke:

"I know that you've killed before. The things you've said to Kito told me as much. The rest...you don't have to tell me. What's past is past, Erik, and what I..." how could she express herself to him when the words didn't want to come out of her mouth for fear! "...what I've seen of you is enough for me to know my own mind. The Kyomi's offering me to you has nothing to do with _my_ decision, even if I had not the freedom to make it until now."

She reached for his hand, then pulled back, tucking it into her lap. "Erik, I think that I love you...I already know I care for you, that I want to be with you...But I can't make you believe that..." She trailed off and lifted a hand to knead at her brow, her eyes shut tight on the knot that had turned hot and wet in her throat.

It was a surprise to him that he hadn't worn his teeth down to bare nubs with the way he was sliding them over each other in a subtle grind. He looked away from her to the clothing and the upside down plans they were upon. He pulled in a slow breath, and with a close of his eyes, exhaled it slowly before shaking his head.

"I am sorry, Anna," he began, hesitating for a moment. "But I cannot say that I feel the same." His voice was quiet, half hoping that she wouldn't hear the words in the room that held such an oppressive silence. He opened his eyes again, forcing himself to look over to her.

The silence stretched on again and with each passing moment, she felt the knot grow all the hotter, all the tighter in her throat, until she knew he had to hear her swallowing.

_He doesn't want me..._

It had never occurred to her that he might not want her...She'd taken it for granted that because he had no one else...he'd take her. _Stupid girl!_ He had no one...and he didn't want her.

At that moment, she could have gladly shrunk to the size of a pebble and disappeared into the cracks of the floor for how very foolish she felt.

"Oh..."

Again, it seemed it was all she could say. Inwardly, her stomach was twisting into a knot so hard she could hardly draw the next breath, and when she looked down she realized her hands were shaking. It was then that the room started to blur. _Oh perfect..._

"I have to go." She whispered hoarsely as she pressed to her feet, fingers kneading her brow again. "If you need anything, call for me." She hurried for the door, watching the room grow further blurred with every step. Her fingers fumbled at the door panel and she escaped into the hallway.

She didn't expect him to follow her.

Things like that only happened in her books, not in reality. There would be no moment where he would realize he was wrong and pull her back, taking her in his arms to kiss her and tell her that he wanted her. It just wasn't the way of things.

_The way of things..._

It seemed that phrase was her constant companion, a truth that she couldn't fight.

She wouldn't make him ashamed of her by crying in front of him or pleading with him to accept her. She'd accept it, quietly and obediently...as she had always done her whole life.

In her room she gave in to her tears, but buried in her pillow so no one in the household would hear her. With each tear that escaped her, she felt as if her heart broke a little more; broke until she spent herself; broke until she laid down, feeling as if she had not a bit of her heart left over. And so she stared out her window for the rest of the night, with her eyes puffy, and her heart heavy.

Erik lowered his eyes, focusing upon the kimono again and lifted a hand to gather it from the table. Placing it aside, he propped his elbows against the table's top and slowly began kneading at his temples. It was the right choice. He _knew _it had to be the right choice.

But if it was...then why did he feel so _empty_?


	40. The Cat Came Back

_Well, he's the next update for a bit. Taking that trip to the states._

_A big thanks to Anna and her mantra to get this edited on time! You're a peach, darlin'. Or...a Banana! Also a big thanks to our patient readers. Almost that time to put this baby to bed. We hope we don't disappoint you._

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**Chapter Forty: **The Cat Came Back...

Time passed slowly, painfully, in that hidden village in the mountains.

Never, even under Dakuro's hand, had Kito been so rigorously trained. Abused, more like it. But the fat fell off his body day after day, revealing thick, bull-like muscles under the skin. He grew to be a greater swordsman than even – to his mind – his father could have been. Not only swords though. Hand to hand combat, a vast majority of it using techniques that Dakuro would have seen as under-handed and unworthy.

But beyond the pain, blood, and sweat, there was hatred, anger, and humiliation and it was enough to fuel the fires and give Kito the will to continue. Summer was deep now, the weather much warmer, the mountain treks so much more passable...and it was time to return to the village of his birth. It was his father's idea, not his, that he return home, the prodigal son and be to the Kyomi's what he had never been before: a son. All under false pretenses however.

Tashiro refused to tell him when, how, and who would carry out the ultimate plan of attack and revenge. He didn't appreciate being held in the dark, not one bit. But go he must, even if it irked him.

He rode out that morning with strict instructions on being obedient, kind, and respectful to Dakuro. To tell him he'd been on a cleansing sabbatical for his soul. Leaving the village behind, he rode fast and hard, uncaring if his mount spent itself. He was angered that Tashiro could have at least given him a time..._something!_

Tashiro was wise enough to never place all of his plans into one sitting, and definitely not into one person, even if that individual had the same blood as he. That gave him greater reason not to trust him. More than once over the past several months he had awaited an assassins dagger, or an ambush...something, yet it hadn't come. That only dampened his suspicions enough where he removed the guard he had posted at the boys chambers – at least where he couldn't be seen.

As he watched the dust kicked up in the horse's wake, he let his thoughts travel, going over the time that Kito had spent in his presence. There was much he had learned of the Kyomi's, and yet it wasn't enough to satisfy him in the least. He had to know more, and most of all, he had to know if Kito would betray him.

"Okage," he barked sharply over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the shape shrinking in the distance. He waited with a restrained impatience for the younger man to approach, and when he did, he fell to a knee behind his Lord. The purposeful thump was enough to have Tashiro know he was there.

"Follow him. I expect a full report." There was no answer, and silent as a still breeze, the man left him. Turning around, Tashiro made his way back into the temple, closing the door behind him.

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She told herself that it would get easier...That the days following that night in Erik's room would not affect her as much as she felt they would. But she found herself very much in the wrong. 

She'd admitted that she loved him, that she wanted him...and with him possessing that knowledge and her _knowing_ he possessed that knowledge, it made the embarrassment and shame of her confession all the worse. It had taken her _days_ to look him in the face again. Days! Conversations were awkward at best and painfully brief at worst.

There was also a strain between Dakuro and his pupil, but that seemed to smooth over. She wished that she could say the same. With time the embarrassment did lessen, but not the hurt. There was no anger; it would have been foolish of her to be angry with him, but still, she ached over it. He was more than just someone she had hung her heart on...she'd hung her hopes on him as well.

But life went on and work was always a convenient way to lose herself and become content once more with the way of things. Summer began and with it, it brought the berries again. Kneeling in the dirt in an already filthy gray kimono, she tugged on the brim of her wide straw hat, shielding all but her lips and chin. As she plucked the fruit, dropping each piece in the basket, a hum started in the back of her throat, quiet and absent.

The sound of rapid hoof beats had her raising her head in curiosity. The family was in residence today, so then who could that be? She stood, wiping dirt loose, and tipped up her hat as the rider drew closer. As soon as she recognized the face, the way he rode the horse hell for leather, she froze, a cold knot of fear working in her belly, along with that familiar slide of disgust when he came near.

"Oh...God..." Murmuring, she took off at an undignified run for the house and burst in, kicking off her sandals, then tugging off the hat as she hurried for the sunroom where she'd last saw Master Kyomi. "Master!" She dropped a quick bow. "Kito...he's...ah...he's back."

The soft strains of the flute had come to an abrupt halt when Anna burst into the room, and it was her words that kept Nio from scowling. Her dark eyes flashed over to Dakuro, his fingers poised upon the smooth surface of a black checker stone, and he frowned almost accusingly at the board.

Sitting up again and bringing his hand to his thigh, he tapped his fingers lightly, turning his eyes to Nio. "Bring him in here, Anna," he finally stated slowly, as if the words were a struggle to get out. Nio bowed her head gently, knowing that her husband would wish to speak with the young man alone. As she passed him, he lifted a hand, taking a hold of her own and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I wish to hear more afterward." Nodding gently, she continued to the door and out once he had released her hand. Turning to the board again, he collected the stones, placing them in their proper spot. Perhaps, while they spoke, the two of them could play just as they used to so long ago.

Dakuro had to steel himself for this meeting. When he had first learned of Kito's disappearance, there had been anger, and plenty of it. Now it had returned in full force, but dwindled down to simmer beneath the surface as he waited. Kito was no longer a child, and could do as he pleased, with or without informing his parents of his whereabouts.

Anna looked between the two of them, still breathless, then simply nodded with her eyes lowered. If it were up to her...she would have sent him packing with a swift, hard kick to aid him on his way! But as it were...

Settling the hat back onto her head, she bowed once more and slipped from the room, donning her sandals again. In the stable courtyard she watched him dismount, hand his reins over to the stable boy, then turn.

From the brief distance, he looked her over, and for a moment she thought she saw the old look of disgusting interest in his eyes, but it passed so quickly she could have imagined it.

"Master Kito."

"Anna." He said her name quietly, without a hint of derision. She blinked once up at him, then turned silently, leading him into the cool interior of the house.

_She doesn't grovel any more...Interesting...and annoying. _Smothering that harsh bite of anger, he schooled his features into a cool, serene expression and followed her to the sunroom.

"Master Kito, sir..." She bowed once more, to both of them in turn, then exited quietly, leaving them alone. Kito turned, entered the room and studied the man he no longer cared for alive or dead, bowing with his expression revealing nothing but regret and peace. "Father...how do I find you?"

"Sit," he motioned to the straw mat before him upon the other side of the board. Picking up a white, rounded stone, he moved it to a carved divot. Raising his head he turned a glance over his shoulder, studying the young man silently.

He had changed, he could see it immediately. Not only in his features as they appeared more lean than when he had last seen him, but his eyes as well.

"We will play, and we will talk." As he turned back around his thoughts traveled to another: Erik... _Where is he? _

Surely Kito's return wouldn't be taken so well by the masked man, especially with the hatred he could feel between the two. He was still ignorant of what altercation had taken place, and while that curiosity hadn't waned a notch, he never asked. Erik would tell him on his own time.

Kito's dark eyes scanned the room, searching for the tall, dark form that he most – and least – wanted to see. But the architect was nowhere to be seen. It was perhaps fortunate that the man was not here. If he had been...Kito might not have been able to control the tide of hatred that Tashiro had been steadily fostering within him for the last months. For while a good deal of that rage had been focused upon his parents and what his true father had steadily bred within him, but his own _personal_ motivation for the weeks of torturous training had been the idea of giving the masked man pain...and a great deal of it.

He bowed low to Dakuro before approaching the mat and sinking into a cross-legged seat before the table. He did remember playing for hours on end with the man over this very table and yet his memories were of feeling caged in by the activity.

"Let me say, father, that I hope you will forgive me for what I have done." He raised his eyes to Dakuro's his face schooled into a pained, yet serene expression. "But I felt that I had become someone who I was not...someone who didn't deserve your guidance and I had to find who I truly was – and should be." He exhaled a deliberately shaky breath as he carefully studied the pieces upon the table.

Those words weren't ones he'd ever expected to hear from his son, not with the way he had been upon a steady decline for the past several years.

He looked up from the board, pulling his fingers away from the piece he had moved. "You have dishonored me greatly, Kito," he began, sitting back and picking up the cup of cooling tea. Taking a slow sip, he studied him from over the rim, then lowered the cup, thoughtfully rubbing his fingertips against the smooth porcelain.

"You have returned to be part of the family again, or to give your farewells?" His face and voice remained void of expression as he spoke with the young man. It pleased him to hear that things had changed, that he had found himself; but even then he couldn't readily accept him without question.

_I dishonored _him _greatly? You old fool, _you_ were the one who took another man's son as your own and tried to pass him off as your seed! _Dakuro had disgraced _him!_

His fingers nearly tightened upon the piece he held, so tightly that he might crack it, but he was saved by the return of Anna, bringing in fresh tea on Nio's orders. They were spared a moment of talking by her exchanging Dakuro's cup and offering one to him. He took it with a small smile toward her – to which she only blinked at, then frowned at.

After she left them alone once more, he took a sip of the scalding tea, drawing on the pain for strength and composure, as his father had taught him, and lifted his gaze to his surrogate parent once more. "I have come to join the family once more, father, if you will but have me...and to take my place as your heir and assume the reins of responsibility."

_If they are still available,_ he added silently.

He had watched the interaction between the two in silence, and noticed immediately that the usual reactions he gave to Anna were entirely void. "She is no longer our servant now." For the moment he brushed aside Kito's comment. "She remains by her own will, and is earning her keep."

He looked over the black and white spotted board, choosing his move carefully. Plucking up a stone, he placed it into another spot, taking one of Kito's pieces. "There has been many chances since you have left..."

He was reluctant to speak of Erik's new place in the family, though not because there was shame. Now simply wasn't the time. He gathered his fresh cup, cradling it in the palm of his hand while he turned it slowly with the other, looking down into the liquid. "Your return is accepted, Kito. Your room is as it was when you had left."

He showed little to no reaction to Dakuro's explanation of Anna's place in the household now.

"Ah. How fortunate for her. I am certain she performs her duties with greater energy than before..." _And I wonder whose idea it was to give the caged bird back her wings?_ Again he fought down the reaction to openly sneer at such an arrangement. No matter...It – and her – would be taken care of when their plan was carried out. He cleared his throat gently and nodded in agreement to Dakuro's statement of changes.

"I would be surprised had there not been changes, father. I have, after all, been gone some time. I will...simply have to adjust." He watched Dakuro's move, then leaned over the board and moved another piece, not taking one of the other man's as he wanted to, but simply occupying an empty square of board. He took a sip of tea, then looked up at the older man and nodded, bowing his head deeply.

"I am most humbly thankful, father." He smiled slightly, then gestured to the board. "Shall we continue?"

Dakuro honestly didn't know what to make of this.

His idea of how this return would be was completely opposite of how it truly was. There was no arguing, no raised voices. He even found the anger that he had felt to be greatly diminished, then completely nonexistent when he wished to continue their game. Finally a smile passed over his lips.

"Yes, of course." He picked up another piece, judging where to place it before they would continue with their game, filling the silence now and again with casual conversation, mostly questions concerning where he had been in the last several months.

* * *

Finally two of the commissioned houses were finished, and he had managed to get a hold of the families to show them the designs. One of which was the Hoshi family, the one that was completely skeptical about the floor plans. 

Skeptical enough to where he hired another builder who did exactly what Erik refused.

Imagine his amusement, and Hoshi's dismay, when the building sunk into the table, becoming ruined with its tilt, just before it was torn down completely.

The ride back to the house was a lazy one as he held the reins rather loosely in his hands, allowing the horse to wander to the stables of its own volition. Humming softly beneath his breath, the song broken now and again as he brought a small peeling knife to his lips, stealing away the pieces of apple he had shorn from the whole.

As he approached the stables his eyes narrowed upon the study of an unfamiliar horse that was there _Had Dakuro gotten a new one? _Thumping his heels against the mount's flanks, he urged it to pick up its pace to enter the stable and pause in the center.

"Anna," he lifted his voice, believing her to be in the garden still. After chewing upon another piece of apple, he eyed the creature. "Why is there a horse in my stall?" The stallion appeared curious as well, turning his head to sniff over in the direction of the other.

After denying herself the desire to linger outside the sunroom's doors and listen to the men's conversation, Anna finally gathered her hat and basket once more and returned to the garden and continue gathering berries.

_Why is he back? And why doesn't Dakuro boot him from the house on his ear!_

Sighing heavily, she continued plucking berries with deft fingers, sneaking one into her mouth every so often. When she heard Erik's voice in the stables she winced and rose slowly to her feet. Pushing her hat further onto her head, she moved about to the cool entrance of the stables, where shadows blanketed the opening. Finding him in the dark interior, she sighed and steeled herself to speak to him without averting her eyes as she was wont to do as of late.

"You're not going to like my answer..." She plucked a berry out of her basket and took a bite, considering the horse, then flicked concerned eyes back up to his. "It's Kito's mount...He's come home to grovel and snivel his way back into the household." She growled softly under her breath, then gave Muran a handful of berries when the mare nickered piteously for them.

Whatever amiable mood he had been in was completely destroyed, and he scowled fiercely. "How positively delightful," he stated dryly as he turned to pull a leg over the saddle. Slipping down to the ground with a soft thumping of sandaled feet, he pulled the reins over the stallion's head and began removing the harness and bit.

"Get it out of my stall." He could choose any other stall of course, but Noko was used to his own sleeping area; being in another wouldn't suit the horse well at all. Wiping off the bit and hanging it up, he loosened the saddles strap and slipped it and the blanket from his back.

"Dakuro has accepted him, I gather?" A thoughtful sound came to his voice, and beneath the lip of the pristine mask a sly smile formed. He was hoping that Dakuro hadn't mentioned his position in the family. Erik wanted to reserve that shock for him to give. The look on the larger man's face would be a great amusement.

When the mare finished greedily slurping the berries from her hand, she wiped her fingers onto the rather worn smock over her kimono before turning to glanced up at him as he dismounted. She frowned faintly at his order...it was unlike him to be so curt in his orders to her, but then again the shortness in their interactions was not one-sided.

"Of course," she murmured as she opened the stall to lead the horse, whose head dropped with exhaustion, to another clean stall and shut him within, ensuring he had grain and water. She cast a glance over her shoulder at him and shrugged lightly. "He hasn't thrown him from the house." She crossed back to Muran and peered into the stall to check her water. The mare nudged her with her muzzle again. "You've had enough, darling."

Turning back to him, she nudged up her hat a bit...and couldn't help but grin at him despite all else. "Going to have a bit of fun with him, then?"

The smile faded and he glanced over to her, bi-colored eyes employing a rather innocent look. "Oh, of course not. I would not _dream_ of having fun at someone's expense."

The innocent look had her laughing softly and shaking her head as she turned to give Muran a fond stroke down her velvety muzzle. "Of course you wouldn't..." Trailing off, she went silent, her own mind inevitably returning to the way that Kito had always treated her. The slaps, both verbal and physical, the condescension and cruelty that he'd never spared her for even a moment...that night in the stables when she thought he would finally beat her to death.

Hefting the saddle over to its usual place, he set it down. Collecting the grooming brush as he returned to the stallion's side, he began smoothing over the coarse hairs. "I am sure that our meeting will be quite...educational."

He still hadn't forgotten the night of the fight. He _couldn't_ forget.

The blow – both of them – had been severe.

Distractedly he continued brushing Noko down, now and again turning his large head away from the other horse before he started to become unruly. Once he was finished he gave his flank a shove and smack to lead him off to his stall, then closed the door behind the sleek horse. "I wonder where he has been all this time," he murmured softly to himself and her as well.

Erik's face flared briefly in her mind and she turned toward him, pressing her hands together over her apron. From under the brim of the wide hat she studied him, then shook her head. "I don't know...but he's different. He _smiled _at me...Erik, you know that Kito would never smile at me even if someone held a knife to his throat. I can't help but think that..." She bit her lip in thought. "...that he's not here just to ask for forgiveness. I've never heard him say sorry a day in all the years that I've known him."

She pushed away from the stall, approaching him to lay one hand on his arm, squeezing it gently.

"Be careful. Whatever you do..." It was all the concern she could show for him now without feeling like a fool and the contact was brief, but dear. Quickly, she dropped her hand and moved back to stroke Muran once more.

Drawn from his thoughts by her touch, he dropped his eyes to her hand, then followed her with his gaze over to the stable. "He has gained the upper hand on me before. I assure you, Anna, that will not happen again." The conviction in his voice was just as solid and as cold as iron.

Distracted by the nudge of a snout against his arm, he lifted his hands and smoothed skeletal fingers over the velveteen nostrils. Turning to the horse he scratched down the length of his face, beginning at his brow and ending just where the line of softer skin starts.

"Nevertheless, I will be careful," he murmured softly, looking into one of the stallion's large eyes. Patting his neck and giving a fond light flick of an ear, he chuckled in his throat as the horse nipped at his kimono in retaliation.

"I am going inside." He glanced over to her, tilting his head slightly. "I look forward to dinner, and I am sure dessert will be delicious as well." He motioned to her, or to be more precise, to her mouth and the evidence of strawberry-red upon her lips. After an amused smile, he turned from her to go to the house.

Kito was back, and he was sure that the rest of his time here would not be pleasant. It hadn't been so ever since meeting the man, and peace had only been felt when he disappeared. He didn't enjoy the fact that he had a rival in the same house.

She flushed guiltily, but her smile was pleased as he walked away, and she lapped away the wet stain upon her lips.

Still grinning, she looked to the berries in her basket and how many were left, sighing faintly. She was going to need more strawberries since they had a guest...and she wanted to make sure she gave Erik a much larger portion than Kito_. Small victories, Anna. Small victories._ Humming to herself gently, feeling that things might be alright between her and Erik after all, she went back to the garden to continue gathering berries.

* * *

After leaving Dakuro when their game was finished, Kito strolled down the hallway to see his mother...at least _she_ was his true parent. Their conversation was stilted, awkward, and he burned inwardly with anger as she dismissed him, idly explaining that she needed to return to his father, flute in hand. 

Gritting his teeth, he moved quietly down the hallway and into what had once been his own room. He took a long, suspicious glance about, ensuring nothing had been changed. Even after his absence of all these months...nothing had been moved, altered, or changed in any way. He should have been touched by it, humbled by his father's love. All he felt was disgust at the man's ignorance and stupidity. How had he ever believed he came from such stock?

Kito unpacked his bags, hanging up his clothing in the closet, setting out his toiletries. There were journals and some texts that Tashiro had given him tucked in the bottom of the satchel, but those he kept buried and hidden in the very back of his closet. Only Anna would be in here to clean and the girl knew better than to meddle with his personal items. He wouldn't hesitate to take his hand to her if she dared cross him, paid servant or not.

In the hall he heard quiet, nearly silent footsteps and the shush of clothing, then the soft hiss of a paneled door opening and closing. A slow smile formed on his lips. He had considered waiting...but why? No time like the present. He left his own room, hands behind his back, and strode down the hallway.

There was no pause, no hesitation, and no knock as he simply slid open Erik's door and stepped inside, sliding it closed behind him.

Erik was behind his desk, using the light from the open shutters as he worked upon another house he had been commissioned to do; his focus more upon his drawing instead of the man that had entered his room. Until Kito spoke, smirking.

"Hello, _brother_."


	41. Retrospection And Introspection

_Finally, an update! _

_Thanks for being patient and for those who haven't..? Thanks for lighting a fire under our butts, heh. _

_Also tossing out a thanks to my editors, wonderful ladies that they are. _

_Another chapter to come soon, and when I say soon, I don't mean two months. It's about time we get to wrapping this baby up._

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One:** Retrospection And Introspection

The past weeks had been some of the most eventful of Anna's life.

Before Erik had come – and even after – it had been a long series of chores, tasks, and her own strict daily routine. But in only a short time, things had changed so very drastically that she barely recognized her existence as her own. Erik had gone from being an employee of the Kyomi family to a trusted student...to part of the family in the eyes of its patriarch and matriarch. She herself had, in only one night, gone from being an unpaid servant, truly one step up from a slave, to earning her own wage, her own rights...and the offer to marry another. And yes, that offer had been rejected by its recipient, much to her pain and dismay...but it had been far more than she'd ever expected to receive. At least she had earned the right to express her feelings for Erik, even if they had not been returned. At least he knew...it would have to be enough.

And it had seemed that all would be well in this new, far more peaceful existence. It had, at least, until the Kyomis' son, missing for many months, had returned to his father's home. Accepted back, after all the pain he had brought them, without any refusal...Anna knew the moment she'd gone to tell Erik of his return that things would not be any easier between the two men than they ever had ever been. Kito himself was determined to see to that.

He shut Erik's door behind him, anger, irritation, and hate already coursing through him at the sight of that familiar mask.

"Hello, brother."

If there was one thing he disliked, it was someone coming into his room without invitation. Dakuro and Nio respected that, as well as Anna – especially Anna. Even with that mutual understanding, he didn't dare sit around without his mask, and when the door opened, he was suddenly glad about that fact, even if the man who came into his room had already seen the grotesqueness of his face.

Raising his eyes from the parchment, he fixed his gaze upon Kito. _So he knows... _"I see you have not learned any manners during your sabbatical." Placing the bit of charcoal upon the table, he laced his fingers together, resting his hands upon the top, his eyes never leaving the boy.

"What do you want?" No need for niceties, or to hide the fact that he disliked him. He had few doubts that Kito would be doing the same.

Kito had no need or respect for the privacy of others, nor did he care to show an ounce of any regard to any but himself unless it served his own needs. Anything else just tried his patience and his wasted his time.

With a raise of brows, mocking an expression of almost pained disbelief, he moved further into the room, cupping his hands in one another behind his back. "Erik...I could swear you're disappointed to see me. Now is that any way to treat a member of the family?" He cast a disdainful, sneering look about the room, over the changes that had been made by the architect, then directing that gaze straight at the man himself, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm to understand that congratulations are in order. You are now my brother and as good as my father's son. It's a great, great honor." He added, softly: "You must be so very grateful to be so...accepted."

Tenting his thumbs, he tapped them together ever so slowly, thumping them silently to a rhythm that only he could hear. Bi-colored eyes remained coolly poised upon the boy, and at his words a thin smile crossed over his lips. "Yes, I am. Though what would _you_ know about that?" He had no qualms in rubbing that fact into his face. Besides, he wondered just how long this little ploy, which he had a feeling it was, was going to hold up.

The boy was up to something. 'What,' though, was the question.

"You may leave, Kito. I have far more important things to attend to than the wounding of your ego – as much of an overabundance you have." He paused, tilting his head. "Or have you changed? Somehow I highly doubt that."

Kito's teeth gritted at the mention of his own acceptance and though he wanted to shout out that he, too, had finally found_ real_ acceptance, with his true father, he wisely kept his mouth shut. He harbored no doubt that if Tashiro heard that he had ruined their plan out of his own desire to one-up Erik, the older man would be severely displeased. Instead, he merely smiled, though tight-lipped.

"It appears I am not accepted as I once was, there's no doubt of that...You have taken my place with the old man, Erik. Learning his ways...his _old_ ways." If it sounded as if he meant to imply that Dakuro's teaching and guidance was worthless...then the observer would be right.

At that final question, he smiled, a slow spreading of his lips that contained no warmth what so ever. "Yes, I've changed." He straightened up, the kimono obviously not as snug-fitting as it had once been, a great deal of the fat dropped away to reveal the heavy muscle underneath. "Changed in far more ways than you can imagine. I'd change too, if I were you, Erik. Remaining in these old ways, with my father...those ways are _dying_...or they soon will be, and those that follow right along with them...but I will leave you for now. I suspect I will see you at the family dinner table, won't I?"

Unmoved by his warning, Erik continued the languid rapping of his thumbs together, then finally paused them. "Yes, I suppose you will. I _am_ family, after all." Releasing the lacing of his fingers, he pressed his palms against the table and pushed to a stand, letting the length of hakama drop around thin ankles.

Moving over to his dresser, he began searching through the top drawer as if the other wasn't there. He paused, though, and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, and Kito? Do not enter my room without invitation again. I will not be so kind to indulge in conversation next time."

Raising a hand from the dresser, he motioned him off, then returned to the searching until he found a long, thin box. Sliding it free, he returned to the desk.

Kito saw that there was no point in lingering here any longer...not when his own temper threatened to get the better of him; with every word that issued forth from that hideous mouth, he found his fingers straying to the hilt of the very small ceremonial dagger that his father had given him.

With a final smirk up at him, he rose to his feet, raking his eyes up and down his form in a manner of seeing something supremely distasteful, then bowed. "Then I take my leave of you. But remember, Erik...no matter what stupidity my father has dwindled to...this is still my house. And I'll have my rights in my own house."

With that, he slid the door open with a sharp enough movement to leave it rattling in its frame. He passed Anna on her way to her own room, her laundered clothing in her arms, and tossed a single coin at her, uncaring if it hit the floor and rolled away. "There, go fetch. After all, you are getting paid now. Run me a bath."

If looks could have killed, he would dropped dead right there with the hateful glare she shot at his back.

* * *

As the weather grew warmer and the days longer, clothing needs began to change again and Nio decided that it was time to freshen up the entire household's wardrobes and even the house itself. 

Tucking the bag of coins into the obi wrapped about her waist, Anna did the same with the list of needs. It was only a week until they would begin playing host to families of nubile daughters again in consideration of Kito's need to marry. His mother was not greatly anticipating such a union to see her son happy...but to have him out of the house. She simply did not have the trust that she'd once had for him any longer.

At Erik's door, Anna knocked quietly, calling out "I'm off to the markets...is there anything you have need of?" She rather hoped he might go with her. Their own times alone had been few and far between as of late with his increase in his duties.

At most the two of them – Kito and Erik – had avoided each other. The only time they were in the same room was when it was time to eat, and while they spoke to the others, there were very little words said between them. It was to be expected, and Dakuro never commented on it. He knew that Erik had ire against his son for some unspoken reason, and though he'd like to think that Kito wouldn't speak only to keep from altercation, he couldn't help but feel that reason was different; all drawn from a quiet hatred.

Sequestering himself away in his room as he usually did at this time of day, Erik glanced up when the door was knocked upon, and he gave quiet contemplation to her question. There were some things he needed, but thought it best if he went with her, just to ensure she got the right items. Pulling his kimono back over the undershirt, he snatched up his coin pouch in thin fingers, then crossed the room to the door. Opening it up he looked down at her, then slipped past to continue to the door in quiet contemplation.

She glanced up at his far taller height as he appeared in the doorway and smiled up at him, not minding his silence in the least. Over time she'd grown very used to it. To the point that it was at times comforting.

Turning, she followed him down the halls and to the front doors. Her battered straw hat hung on one peg and she fetched it, setting it over her bound-back hair before stepping outside. "It's a beautiful day...not too cool, nor too hot." Pulling loose the list, which was marked with her own wants and needs as well, she smiled faintly to herself, then tipped her head back to look at him.

"I remember our first trip to the market together. It was only a day or two after you arrived and the weather was just like this. You bought art supplies..." She trailed off quietly, cheeks flushing as she dropped her gaze once more. It was silly that she could remember such a day so well, down to what he had bought...But she clung to these small things, knowing that with Erik's wanderlust, she could lose them at any time.

Turning a glance to her, amusement threatened to touch his lips. He found it a little odd she would remember things of that nature, but as far as he could tell, she had always been prone to such things. He faced forward again, watching the passing scenery as they continued walking. Instead of leading them directly toward the markets, he decided to take a detour to the houses first, and without signifying his intent, he took down a path that veered left.

"Are there other things you recall about our travels?" Tucking his hands behind him, thin fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding it loosely as sandal-covered feet absently scattered pebbles here and there. Watching as a few skipped over the ground, landing among the taller grass, he lifted his chin, looking out over the horizon where he could see the distinct rooftops of his projects.

She laughed softly, a faint blush tinging her cheeks at his question. It was true that her memory was nothing short of an oddity. She could remember things far in the past, even the first taste of a flavored ice at the age of four, holding her mother's hand, her father's fingers curled on her small shoulder.

"Yes...I remember all of them. We once went to the market and there was an alley that was dark with all manner of characters lounging in it...you were determined to have a snake or a scorpion...and I was appalled, of course!" She changed courses quickly, following at his heels as he changed their direction, heading into the village of homes that he was at work at.

"I didn't go with you that day...I wish I had. Kito made a particularly large bully himself that afternoon..." Lost in memories, she frowned gently, thinking of her crucifix.

With a sigh, she turned her face up to his, her expression cleared. "If you ever do leave...I wonder who I will take these little adventures with?" She dreaded to think of that day.

He recalled the crucifix incident, and the memory of it caused his lips to thin slightly, though he maintained his silence. Keeping his long-legged pace moderate, he continued to study the rooftop, as if trying to find any flaws in it from the distance. Kaleb was directing the others, undoubtedly, and soon they were going to finish with the Toyomi's house for their newly wed son to move into.

Raising a hand, he tucked a few dark auburn strands behind his ear; a useless endeavor, for a few wisps fluttered forward, caressing against the white domino. Turning his head slightly, he glanced over to her thoughtfully, then turned his eyes forward again.

"You can always travel," he stated simply, then absently plucked a floating bit of fluff from the air. With the change of the seasons the plants were beginning to shed their seeds. Carefully holding the feathery globe, he cupped it in his palm then blew a gust of air, casting it into the sky again.

She let her eyes drift out over the houses, not looking at the rooftops as he did, but at the windows, wondering who would live inside when they were finished. Young couples just married? Those with children? Perhaps an older family such as the Kyomis? It was a source of curiosity to her to see families on their day-to-day basis, watching them live and exist as a unit and not as an individual whose only purpose was to serve his own needs and retire at the end of a day to a life lived alone. She'd often think to herself that she'd like a family of her own one day...but that was not likely to happen.

Shaking her head slightly, she glanced up to him, then back to the view ahead. "I don't know if I should ever have the opportunity...women, no matter the country, do not travel without a companion." She watched the fluffy parasols wheel through the air, then bent, plucking up her own stem and began plucking the heads gently with her fingertips, then letting them drift away.

"I'd like to be like that little seed and be free to go as the wind takes me...choosing a random spot, then laying down roots and growing, but..." she tossed the stem away and gestured to a large tree in the distance, growing out of a rock. "...I think I'm more like that tree. Planted here by mistake and...bound to stay."

His amusement was revealed this time with a raise at the corner of his mouth. "You have been around me for far too long, Anna. You are becoming metaphorical. I daresay I am rubbing off on you." Smirking gently, he lowered his hand again, cupping it with the other behind him.

"I will be leaving once the buildings are complete," he began, thin shoulders lifting then falling in a shrug. "I am honored that I have been allowed to be part of the family, though I do not belong here."_ I do not belong __anywhere... _He looked down at her quietly, thoughtfully, then as if making some kind of decision, he nodded to himself.

"Erik!"

The sound of another's voice had him glance up, and he looked over as Kaleb came jogging down the path, his dark, wavy hair fluttering behind him in the wind. "I didn't expect you to come today," he said, taking a moment to catch his breath, he nodded once to Anna, then returned his dark eyes to the masked one before him.

"Something wrong," Erik asked coolly, one brow lifting suspiciously behind the mask.

"Well..."

Even just the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, but genuine smile sent a warm rush of pleasure through her and she returned the expression, her own much wider as she colored, then lowered her gaze back to the path that their sandaled feet moved down.

"You _have_ rubbed off on me since you've been here, Erik. I..." She trailed off at his next words, words that sent a stab of grief so painfully into her chest that she had to struggle for her next drink of air. _When the buildings are done..._ They seemed to be nearly done now. When they were done, he would leave Japan...and her.

She knew in time it might seem as if he had never been here in the first place, but that she dreaded more than anything else. _I love you, don't leave me..._

Swallowing any response, she watched Kaleb draw near, nodded to the dark-skinned man and stepped back, turning to the side to let them have their talk of the buildings. Silently watching her Erik beneath her lashes, she gazed out over a row of houses, mirrors atop each one, glinting in the sun. _Then I hope they are never done..._

She immediately scolded herself for such thoughts. Nothing could _make_ him stay and as well as she now knew Erik, there was no possibility that anything he put his mind and hands to would stay unfinished or even imperfect.

"It is nothing too terrible. A beam collapsed and one wall fell in." Kaleb was rubbing the back of his neck by now, avoiding Erik's intent regard. He then motioned them to follow him with one dust-laced hand. Erik made a sound in his throat, then followed behind the man, almost expecting to see the whole building down.

He remained quiet during the travel, and when they had went into the building zone, he searched for the building, finding it immediately. He motioned for them to stay where they were as he approached the building in long strides and began looking over the grounds, studying it carefully. Stepping over pieces of broken clay tiles and splintered wood, he paused along side of the standing wall, nodding once to himself.

Bowing her head to keep the sun off her face, she tugged the hat a bit lower and followed the two men to the sloping building, its roof off kilter from the collapsed beam. As she watched Erik move about, assessing the damage, a cracking like sandals over stone caught her attention behind where they stood. Peering over her shoulder at the other houses, their heights casting shadows over the ground, Anna thought she saw a stout figure disappear behind one wall.

_Kito? _

Glancing back to the two men for a brief moment, she bit her lip in indecision, then turned, slipping quietly away, moving to the house where she could have sworn she saw the figure. The skitter of pebbles and the beat of footsteps came again, but louder, as if whoever it was was running. She broke into a run, rounding the building...and found nothing. There was a distant shut of a door from further in the village...but there were simply too many houses to follow it. _Bugger it..._

Frowning, she turned and nearly tripped over something lying propped up against the building: a mallet of some kind. Giving it an odd look, she headed back to the other two.

By time she had returned, Kaleb and he were speaking to each other. While the Persian seemed irritated, Erik's voice was rather calm in the other man's native tongue. If they noticed Anna nearing, they didn't make it known; their conversation was more important. Only a minute or two passed before Erik gave a flourishing gesture with his hand, motioning off to the building, then started walking away with but a glance given to Anna.

Silent and contemplative, he watched the road before him as they made their way back down the gravel path and to the main road of packed dirt. The house had been tampered with, he could tell by the odd indents that were in the beam along with the unplanned cut. None of his men had been so careless in the measuring and cutting of the beams – Dakuro had seen to it that he hired the best builders in the valley.

"You have your list, I take it," he questioned, breaking the silence with a glance toward her.

On their way back to the main road, she turned, glanced at the mallet leaning against the wall's side, its length topped with a smooth, large stone looking inconspicuous...but she had the suspicion that someone had been playing about Erik's buildings. Turning her eyes beneath the hat back up to his masked face, she nodded.

"Yes...it's not terribly long. Erik..." She broke off, unsure of whether to voice her suspicions to him or not. After all...it was his site and his expertise, not hers, but..."I thought – I could have been mistaken – that I saw Kito, at the site just now. I followed him, but he lost himself in the houses. I could have been wrong, but it certainly _looked_ like him."

She turned, glanced back at the village, then back to the dirt road ahead. "There was a mallet lying about...It wouldn't surprise me if he resorted to such childish pranks."

There was no acknowledgment to her words, only a forward turn of his eyes as they drew closer to the markets. The streets were beginning to become thick with people as they went about their daily rituals. His 'face' known by many of the market people, they called out greetings or gave a quiet wave to the overly silent, eccentric man. He respectfully returned the greetings by way of a nod, but his mind was elsewhere.

When he returned to the house he was going to have to speak with Dakuro.


	42. Secrets Kept

_So... here it is. After several months of no updates, we finally get one out. Yes, I know. I misjudged when I said that it wouldn't take so long to get this done. We're reluctant to see it finished! That and real life matters had to rear their ugly heads. _

_Nevertheless. A hearty thanks to our readers, and our beta. The next chapter will be coming soon, honest this time! We already have the last few plotted out, and the very last chapter has been written._

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**Chapter Forty-Two:** Secrets Kept

"I would be much obliged if this was kept between us."

The tips of slender fingers gave a slow passing stroke along the fine porcelain, and he watched the rings form, ripple toward the center of the cup, then bounce back against the edges. Bringing the rim to his lips, Erik took a lazy drink and lifted bi-colored eyes to the man sitting across from him. Dakuro was quiet as well, and for a moment Erik wondered what he was thinking. It was difficult to see anything other than him being pensive.

He had been meaning to speak to the older man for a few days now. It was nearly a week since he found out about the sabotage, and though he had knowledge that it had been the man's son, he spoke nothing of it, and also told Anna to keep her silence. Dakuro had other things on his mind lately. Things that Erik wasn't privy to, mostly because he didn't inquire. If it was meant for him to know, then he would be told. It was as simple as that.

Drinking the last of the tea, he set the cup down, then brought his hands to his lap, fingers lacing upon the soft silk of his kimono.

"Kept from Nio as well."

Despite the late summer afternoon there was a chilly breeze blowing off the mountaintop with the approaching fall no more than a week or two away, and the older man felt it in his bones. He glanced up at Erik, then cast a longing look at the brazier set in the middle of the room. Not yet cool enough to light it and he was loath to appear old and easily chilled.

With a quiet sigh, Dakuro lifted his cup, and brought it close, absorbing its heat and comfort before taking a measured sip. He took stock of what Erik was asking for, and though he knew he shouldn't mind his proposition in the least, there was some concern, not for himself, but for Nio. They were aging, she faster than he and who would... No, it was a selfish thought, not when he and his wife knew that time was shortening. It would be best, especially if the houses were finished before the first snowfall.

He turned his head, studying the younger man, and he nodded. "I won't speak of it to her. Women are rarely sensible about these things. It will be between us and I approve." He gave him a smile, the curl of lips not quite meeting his eyes before he finally rose and moved over to the brazier to light it.

Erik would have smiled as well but he noticed that the jovial glint that came with Dakuro's smile was missing. With a thinning press of his lips, he turned his head to watch him, weighing his options to speak or let it be. He chose a different route; middle ground. "I will take my leave, then. Unless there is something you would like to speak to me about."

Dakuro paused by the brazier as he knelt down beside it. For several moments, he didn't speak at all, but considered what Erik asked of him: to tell him the truth. Erik, as astute and intelligent as he was, had surely noticed by now that he was burdened down by a weight. When the flames licked at the coals, he rested his hands to his knees, groaned as he pressed back up. "The thing you intend to do..…do it before winter, Erik."

_Before winter...? _Beneath his mask his brows furrowed slightly, confusion and curiosity warring with each other. "That may be too soon," he murmured quietly, then raised his voice so he'd be heard more clearly. "I will see what can be done. Thus far everything is on schedule, regardless of certain...delays."

Dakuro nodded, frowning, and in a rare gesture of frustration, lifted a hand to rake through the graying strands of hair. "Yes, of course. I hadn't considered the houses. Only...do what you can, Erik. It will be enough." _For now_. How many months left? Two, three, four...Tashiro would come, eventually, there was no denying it. Already he knew of several families who had been killed, the men once of their clan, now dead because they would not join the Ronin. He glanced over his shoulder back at Erik and nodded, dismissing him for now.

Sliding his hands from his lap, one flattened against the mat beneath him, and he pressed up to a stand. The hem of his hakama brushed lightly over the tops of bare feet as he turned toward Dakuro, pausing as if preparing to speak further, though he only gave him a shallow bow, then turned around to leave the room.

There were other things that had to be done before the day was complete; Makoto still needed a sound beating when it came to practicing their horseback archery. But, most of all, he needed to speak with Kaleb to find out the status of the building that had been tampered with.

Tucking his hands into his sleeves, his fingers curled around his wrists, holding loosely as he watched the floor pass beneath his feet, his head bowed in thought. He could feel the winds of change again, and in his experience, they were rarely, if ever, amiable. It stirred up that need to retreat and wander, to seek out a place where he would truly be welcomed. _Are you not welcomed _here,_ Erik? Were you not welcomed with Giovanni as well? _That thought proved why he should be leery. When everything seemed right, all went wrong.

The sound of approaching footsteps had him lift his head, and he removed a hand from a sleeve to brush auburn hair out of his eyes to be haphazardly tucked behind an ear. "Hello, Anna." Nodding lightly to her, he stepped aside to let her pass, then tucked his hand back into his sleeve as he continued on toward the front door.

Rubbing at the base of her spine with one hand, she finished cleaning up the kitchen, then headed into the hall, bare feet flapping at the wood. Now to strip down the beds and then she might have an hour or two free while the linens soaked... His voice drew her out of her reverie and she lifted her head, studying Erik as he drew closer.

"Hello, Erik."

He moved past her, but before he could get to the door, she turned back around, frowning thoughtfully. "Erik, have you..." She glanced down the hall, then drew closer to him, peering up into his masked face. "Have you spoken to Master Kyomi about Kito's interference at your site? I ask because one of the servants in the Hinosha house has seen him at the site a time or two." Chances are he had likely done much more damage than that one beam, but it might not have been found yet. Crossing an arm over her waist, she tucked some work-loosened strands behind one ear, and glanced down the hall again.

After regarding the wet flooring, figuring that Kito, yet again, tromped around the house with stained footwear, he turned his head to look down at her. "No. I have not told him yet." Stepping away, he reached back to take a hold of her elbow in a loose grip, and pulled her along with him. Avoiding the wet portions of floor, he released her at the doorway and stepped out to crouch down and collect his zori.

"At the time he has other things on his mind, Anna. I will not add to that burden. Let Kito play his games. What he decides to ruin, will be rebuilt. He is only ensuring that I remain longer," he murmured as he stood up again, his feet covered from the faint chill in the air, and smiled coolly. "And we both know how much he so wishes to do that."

One arm loosely in his grasp, she pressed the other along the pale grey of the kimono and gathered the hem, stepping over the drying panels of floor, following him. Glancing up at him as he released her to strap on his zori, she bent without thought and did the same. What harm would it do in delaying in stripping the beds a few minutes? Her time with him felt scarce after learning he would leave after the buildings were finished.

"Good, I had hoped you wouldn't. Kito is already such a burden to him; worrying over his son becoming a vandal is not worth his time." Pressing back to a stand, she stepped outside ahead of him, a bit taken aback by the bite in the air. Winter would come soon to the valley.

She turned back to him, hesitating...then finally spoke. "I think you ought to confront Kito though. Knowing him as I do, he's taking no end of pleasure in thinking that you're on site scratching your head over the damages. He might not continue if he knows he's not making a fool of you."

"Kito is the fool if he believes I am bothered by his antics." Brushing his hair back behind his ears for the twentieth time that day, he glanced to her, to her feet, then away as he turned around to start for the steps. Descending them, gravel crunched under his feet, filling the momentary silence.

"I may speak with him, though. The buildings can be repaired, though the workers cannot." In the beginning, he hadn't cared if any one of them were hurt on the job, though over the duration of the job he had become accustomed to their presence, and wouldn't like that threatened by a beam Kito happened to tamper with.

"He's stupid enough and proud enough to believe it. It would never occur to him that the repairs would be easily taken care of." Following him, she halted once she had descended the stairs, and gazed out over the main yard and the road beyond it. From here she could just see the hint of the development, the dips and rises of the roofs, mirrors winking in the sun.

She glanced to him, dampening her upper lip. "Erik, would you mind if I accompanied you?" It made little sense to, especially when she had work yet to accomplish in the house, but... she just wanted more time with him.

"I would not be averse to your company." Lacing his fingers behind him, he gave a shake of his arms, forcing the sleeves down to cover his hands, warding away the cooler air. He said nothing further concerning Kito, letting his thoughts travel again.

Now that it was getting close to his departure, he wondered where he should go next. Perhaps the New World he had heard about. A whole new land, different from this side of the world, and yet the same. Then there was that impossible thought of remaining here. It was peaceful and quiet, if he ignored the presence of the nuisance.

Instead of going directly to the buildings he took a side path towards Kaleb's home to speak with him as he had intended when he left the house.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly. It was never altogether clear to her if he truly wanted her company or not; she couldn't remember a time he had asked her to stay with him; rather, it had always been she to ask. But thinking upon that was a useless endeavor, especially when time could be short and there was so much she wanted to remember of him.

Following, she kept up with his longer-legged pace, wrapping both arms about her waist as the dirt-caked path crunched underfoot. As she watched her breath plume on the air, her gaze was drawn to the houses again and the light cast from the mirrors. What would it be like to have her _own_ home such as that, to be responsible for the household knowing it was hers and her family's? She might never marry, likely would never marry, but perhaps if she saved enough at the Kyomi house, she could purchase a small home...

"Maybe I'll have a home of my own one day, like those, but smaller. If you were still here, would you build a tiny house?" She lifted her face to look up into his with a small smile.

"A _tiny_ house? Of course not." Welcoming the distraction, he lifted his eyes from the ground and turned his masked face toward her. "I would build the grandest house. Every room would be a different theme, and the structure would be unlike anything ever seen in Japan." He turned his eyes forward again, his fingers tapping slowly within the draping cloth, then stilling as he tilted his head.

"I had created numerous designs over the years for myself. The dreams of a child. Unfortunately they were lost in my travels." He frowned gently, unable to remember exactly where he had left them. Such was the problem with traveling as much as he did, but he was grateful that his memory was photogenic when it came to redesigning the missing structures.

By the roadside, there grew a clutch of small, spreading flowers and she bent, plucking up a handful, shook off the dirt. Spreading her fingers through the petal, flicking a beetle and sending it flying, she turned her head, glanced up at him and laughed.

"Erik, as lovely as that sounds, I'm afraid my finances won't extend along the lines of magnificent." Grinning to herself, she let herself indulge a familiar fantasy of living in such a house, with him. Smiling faintly even as the ache formed in her chest, she wrapped the roots and stems together, then stuck the flowers in her obi.

"What will you build when you do make a home for yourself, outside of those you might work for?" She slowed her steps near his foreman's door.

"You mean other than a home? I..." he trailed off, pausing in front of Kaleb's door, then raised his shoulders in a careless shrug. "I am not sure. I have not given it much thought over the past few years." As his gaze crossed the distance to the unfinished homes, he seemed even further away, musing.

"My mother had often spoken of the need for a definitive Parisian opera house." He shook his head, brushing aside the memory, then lifted a hand to knock upon the door. "But that would not be for _me,_ now would it?" he stated coolly, then stepped back from the threshold, waiting for Kaleb to come to the door.

She had actually meant to ask him about details but she kept her silence, tucking her lower lip between her teeth to gnaw thoughtfully upon as she listened to him. He spoke of what lay beyond this place as if it might happen tomorrow and yet he spoke of what was behind him as if it was so close behind him that he needed to separate himself from it. He was always going _somewhere_, but _where_ was he running from?

"No," she replied in gentle tones, "But I'm certain you could make a beautiful one."

Thankfully the Persian man had answered swiftly. Erik had no desire to speak more of his mother and her ideas.

Clearing her throat, she let the subject drop as the door opened and his friend poked his head out and she smiled at the man. But he was hardly smiling. "Come in, come in. I'm surprised I haven't seen you sooner. Have you heard about Myuzi's family, his parents?" He nodded to the family's servant and gestured them both inside.

"I cannot say that I have." Erik shook his head as he stepped into the small hovel, almost immediately going over to the warm coals set off center of the room. Although the coming autumn hadn't chased away the warmth of the summer, he felt it sooner than most. Such was the downside of being impossibly thin: he didn't have enough body fat to protect him from a chill. It was plain stubbornness that seemed to keep him from getting sick. It sure couldn't be attributed to his eating or sleeping habits.

Pulling his hands from behind himself, he rubbed his palms together and held them out toward the warmth that wafted from the brazier, then glanced over to Kaleb. "By the urgency in your voice, I take it something terrible has happened?"

Leaving the two men to speak, Anna made for the corner she had inhabited last time she had been here and took a seat upon a chair, but flicked her gaze between the two of them in concern. The Myuzis were acquaintances of the Kyomis; at least the elder couple and had dined with them before. _They weren't _that _old..._

"Yes, terrible. And you know I don't concern myself with these people, but this..." He shook his head, dusted off a chair and took a seat, frowning up at Erik. "He came by this morning to tell me he couldn't work. His parents, they live closer to the mountain and two nights ago a neighbor says she saw their house raided by two men. They found them last night, throats slit, nearly decapitated. Both his mother and father."

In the corner, Anna had gone white as a sheet, her hand clenched involuntarily upon the flowers. "My parents..…that...it sounds like my parents' murder." She cast an anxious look up at Erik, then dropped her eyes to the floor.

The two of them glanced over toward Anna, and though Kaleb looked back to Erik's direction, he kept his mis-matched eyes on the younger woman. "That is unfortunate," he glanced back over to the Persian, the words sounding cold to his own ears, even if they weren't meant to be.

Kaleb frowned, and she had to flinch at the cold sound of his voice, even if she knew that with Erik he didn't always intend to be callous, but it simply wasn't in his nature to honey-coat things. He didn't waste time upon useless sentiments as she did.

"We have others on reserve to fill his spot. In fact, with winter on its way, have them go to the site to work. I have informed the Toyomis that their son will be able to move in before the winter festival." Kneading at his hands, Erik smoothed his palms together slowly, his voice softening a notch. "Also, do be sure to give Myuzi my condolences."

Eyes still fixed upon the floor, she listened as they continued to speak of their plans, but her mind was far gone from the room and even the time, a different scene altogether playing out in front of her eyes. Her parents, the Myuzis, and in the years since there had been other rumors of such murders. Kaleb agreed, assuring him he would tell the builders at the end of the day about the change in plans.

After finding out the progress of the final two buildings, and if there were any more incidents on the sites, there was little reason to remain. The two of them had never been conversationalists, not even when they worked together in Persia. Giving his farewell, and ensuring that Anna was up and ready to follow him, Erik made his way to the door and left the small house, reintroducing himself to the gentle breeze beyond the threshold.

He gave little thought to the deaths of the man's parents. Death was an occurrence that happened every day, and lingering too long on the unchangeable and merciless hands of nature was a useless endeavor.

Coming to the end of the dirt-packed path, he looked toward home, then in the opposite direction to the buildings before he started walking that way.

She followed behind him silently, the news of the couple's death disturbing to say the least. Hadn't another of the families that had dined with the Kyomis lost members as well in a similar manner? She couldn't remember and chances were that she would have still been kept out of the loop at that point due to her station alone. Frowning, she caught up with Erik, pulling the flowers loose to toss them by the side of the path.

"The men that live in the mountains, they seem to thrive off violence. Has Master Kyomi ever spoken to you of them before?" She glanced questioningly up at him, but paused when she noticed Kito mounting the path from the incline that led to the development.

Kito stilled, noticing them, casting his small eyes between the two of them before he cast a sneering glance at Anna as he passed. "The linens on my bed need changed. Shame you're slacking now that you're actually getting paid."

Shoulders tight, Anna glanced up at Erik, excused herself with a murmured apology, then hurried off, giving Kito a murderous glare and a wide berth. Chuckling beneath his breath, the other man turned and continued walking toward home, ignoring Erik.

"Shame how you can manage to saw a beam, swing a mallet, and yet you are too incompetent to fix your own bed. I do not know if I should laugh, or pity you," Erik stated as he, too, continued on his way, not even bothering to look back at the man. Though he did purposely raise his voice a bit more so he could hear him as the distance between them stretched.

"If you are going to be a nuisance, Kito, try something that will not keep me here longer than you would like."

Kito had never been able to let an insult pass, no matter how unwise it might be to pursue it, and this was no different. Blood rushing to heat his face and the back of his neck, he stopped and turned sharply, burning a hole with his gaze through the back of the other man's head as he continued to walk away, unperturbed.

What, the freak didn't even _care_ that he had set him back a few days and damaged some of his precious work? He had hoped to whip up the creature into a self-righteous rage, provoke him to violence, then see him set down a peg or two from the old man, but he treated the sabotage like it was _nothing! _

"Oh, so I didn't go far enough, did I? Maybe next time I need to make certain that the roof collapses and someone's _inside_ it," he snarled in retaliation, his pulse thrumming hotly at his temple.

Lifting his hand, Erik gave a casual, yet condescending, wave back as his response, then dropped his arm to his side. As he crested the incline, he almost expected to see the building in shambles, but it was still standing, which meant little. He was going to have to check the structure thoroughly. His archery time with Makoto would have to wait until tomorrow, it seemed.

The negligent wave, dismissing him as beneath his notice only served to whip the anger into pure outrage and humiliation, both familiar sensations by now, and it was enough to have him turning for the house once more, but his steps firmer, decisive. It didn't matter if what was in his head to do would be a finger pointed straight at him, nor did he care that he might be cutting off his nose to spite his face. He wanted to _hurt_ that arrogant corpse of a man, be it physically or emotionally.

He went straight to his room and emerged several minutes later, carrying something in his hand that he had had since returning but had never used. Perhaps it had just been waiting for the right time... The stables were quiet, the three horses inside stamping their feet companionably, huffing softly within their stalls. The stallion that all but belonged to Erik, the mare that Anna adored, and his own mount, a gelding he had little affection for, if any. But there was no way around losing him as well.

With an uncaring shrug, he went from stall to stall, tapping out the contents of the vial in thirds, tainting the water buckets with the oil. As he left the stables, he heard the mare emit a low whine of sound. To anyone with any imagination, it might have sounded like a plea.


End file.
