Title: Optique
Author: Amber Michelle
Word count: 2222
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The palace looked like something out of a Chinese period movie, Kagome thought, like it belonged in a novel instead of some out-of-the-way place in Japan's history. She wasn't conscious when they arrived, so issues like how they got there, and why she saw nothing but a sea of clouds and treetops when she scrounged up the courage to look outside and across the courtyard, remained unanswered, as did most of her questions. Shippo was the only one awake to talk to her the first day, and his explanation wasn't the best:
"You can't see outside 'cause there's a barrier." He stuffed a rice ball into his mouth and his cheeks puffed out. "Bet it'll keep Naraku out."
"Yeah, but it keeps us in." Kagome chewed her lower lip. It was sore from all the abuse it'd gotten since she woke up. "How did we get here?"
The kit shrugged. "Sesshomaru. And some female." He reached for another treat, chewing unconcernedly.
A female? That was news. The only 'female' she'd ever seen him speak to was Rin; he didn't even bother to speak to Kagome herself unless she was in his way. "Who?" she couldn't help asking.
But the kit didn't know much more, and Miroku was still unconscious. Inu Yasha's only response to their location was a string of curses.
"Maybe you shouldn't have told him," Sango said when it was her turn, sitting up with some help to drink tea.
Kagome sighed. "I thought he might know something about this place. Have you seen anybody since we got here? A healer, anyone?"
The slayer shook her head, brow furrowed with uncertainty. "Maybe we should look for him. We can't just sit here."
That wouldn't do, of course - Sango needed rest, so the burden fell on Kagome in spite of her friend's insistence that she was fine. She wouldn't have minded, if the hospitality was a little more personal. There had to be guards somewhere, or servants - the place was spotless, and she couldn't picture Sesshomaru on his hands and knees doing something as mundane as scrubbing the floors or sweeping the steps.
When she got over the dread of questioning the Western Lord and felt confident her legs wouldn't give out if she did a little exploring, Kagome left the pavilion. Maybe she hadn't seen a single person besides her friends in the two days they'd stayed, but Inu Yasha and the others were bandaged and seemed well-taken care of. Food appeared and disappeared of its own accord, and her uniform, torn and bloodied beyond repair, had been replaced before she woke up with snowy hitoe and nagabakama the color of dried blood. The outer layers were made of such thin, delicate silk she was afraid to let them drag on the floor.
It only took a minute to orient herself. The palace was straight out of a textbook, down to the latticed doors and the covered walkways between where they were staying and the central chambers. She ran her fingers over carvings of chrysanthemums and lotus blossoms, padding down the corridor with careful, whispering steps so she wouldn't trip on her hakama. Light peeked through the bamboo screens, mottled with a swaying pattern of leaves. She couldn't see through them to the garden, but water flowed somewhere nearby, and she could smell astringent pine and freshly-turned earth when the breeze drifted through the slats.
At first the atmosphere seemed completely opposed to what she knew of its owner. The house was quiet except for the sounds in the garden. The floor was polished to a fine sheen, the boards fitted together so neatly it looked like one, unbroken piece; there was no splinter out of place on the screens. No tears in the opaque paper shoji, no uneven beams up above. Perfect. She pictured his placid exterior, the way the wind sifted through his hair, how pristine his person was even after a messy battle - and it fit.
She should have been jealous - Inu Yasha was, Kagome was positive. Instead, she only wanted to see the demon lord in his natural habitat. Maybe the pieces would fit if they were placed together for her to examine.
It was when she rounded the southern corner of the shinden that Kagome thought she heard voices. The screens were raised farther down the hall to let the light in, and there was a break in the shoji where the hall opened up into another room.
"This is not a permanent arrangement, mother."
Kagome shuffled to a stop and leaned against the wall. Well, I found him. With his mother, even. Funny, she'd thought the woman had died or something, since Inu Yasha's mother had come into the picture.
"I want the half-breed removed." His mother's voice was a frigid alto. "Don't think you'll appease me by keeping him out of the way. As long as I'm alive my decree stands."
Something suspiciously like a sigh reached Kagome's ears. "Mother--"
"No."
"Yes." If she hadn't known better, she would've thought he sounded exasperated. "He stays until his companions are battle-worthy again. This is not up for discussion. Endure or leave."
An unfriendly silence descended. Kagome hiked the nagabakama up to her ankles so she could approach quietly. The wind sent dried maple leaves skittering in from the veranda.
"So I've been cursed with an ungrateful son as well as your father's bastard child." She peeked into the room and immediately pulled back when his mother rose and spun to leave, silver hair fanning out and shimmering. "You have terrible taste in allies, Sesshomaru."
The woman spared Kagome only a glance as she swept out. She stood frozen, fingers still hooked onto the wooden screen, watching his mother's retreating back until she disappeared down another corridor. There was no doubt as to their relation; Sesshomaru took after her strongly. Even frowning she was beautiful.
Kagome took a deep breath before giving up her hiding place and padding around the screen. They must have known she was there, so there was no point in trying to hide. He was seated behind a lacquered desk, back straight, armor replaced by a haori with a familiar sakura pattern, red fading into white. Butterflies were stitched onto the fluttering length of the sleeves, echoing the design on his mother's clothing.
"Is there something you need, Priestess?" He didn't look up from his scroll.
She bit down on her lip again. Now that she'd found him, her brain refused to cooperate. I wanted to make sure you didn't desert us. Yeah, that would go over well. Why did you bring us here? would sound ungrateful. She wanted to ask about what she overheard, but it didn't take a genius to know that wasn't a good idea.
"I... wanted to thank you for taking care of my friends," Kagome finally said, when she was sure the silence had lasted too long. "They're getting better. Sango is awake, and so is Inu Yasha, and I'm sure Miroku will come around..." She caught him looking at her through his fringe, writing brush poised over parchment, and blushed. "Um."
If he were just a little bit more social, this would be so much easier. They could talk about what a nice morning it was, what a beautiful home he had, and maybe get around to the issue of his invisible servants, and why he thought of bringing them here in the first place. Instead the words stuck in her throat, and Kagome had to avert her gaze before her face got any hotter. Sesshomaru's idea of social grace didn't seem to include much more than staring, and probably curt, one-word responses.
His brush clinked onto its ceramic rest. "I see."
Two words! Maybe she shouldn't have come in. Now she was forcing him to pay attention to her, and Kagome remembered how much she didn't want that, ever. She felt like a butterfly pinned under glass; he was eyeing her and the purple layers spilling over her hands and pooling at her feet, maybe even thinking he'd wasted the costume on someone like her. He looked at humans the way people dissected insects. He'd probably bisected a few in his time, as a matter of--
No, bad thought! Ewwww. She jerked her eyes away again and bit down too hard on the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her face from showing it. There had to be something else to think about - like that screen dividing his study area from the rest of the room.
"Is that... Eitoku?" She left her spot before his desk and knelt in front of the screen, brushing a sakura blossom in gold leaf with her finger. Her grandfather liked the Kano school; this looked like the prints tacked to his wall. She wracked her brain for more information, and couldn't come up with much. "I thought his work was all destroyed."
"Why would it all be destroyed?" Sesshomaru asked.
Kagome looked back and jumped to find him standing behind her. "Uh--" With his head tilted like that he actually looked curious. She blinked up at him. "War."
He looked at the screen, and then back at her, for what felt like a long time. Kagome wished she could hear what he was thinking. His eyes were hooded, the gold irises glinting when the light shifted with the wind. "Shuban."
"What?"
"The artist. My father commissioned this screen when I was a child."
"Oh." That had to be the most revealing thing he'd ever said to her. How long ago would that be - Muromachi, Heian? She had no idea how old he was. "I guess art history isn't my strong point."
There was that stare again, and the curious cant to his head. He did look a little like a puppy when he did that.
Kagome covered her mouth with her hands, glad for the huge sleeves that hid her smile, because she couldn't make it go away. Bad thought.
He lofted a silver eyebrow and pivoted on his heel. "Come."
She shot up and almost tripped on her hakama. He waited by the screen until she righted herself, and then walked out, following the same path she'd watched his mother take. Kagome huffed and followed. Whoever came up with the idea of long, trailing pants deserved her fist through his teeth.
Wisteria vines spilled over the eaves, just beginning to bloom. Sesshomaru walked slowly down the veranda so she could keep up, and she used the opportunity to peer between the leaves to spot the maples, and beyond them a group of cherry trees in full bloom. A little, artificial stream snaked between the trees, under a bridge, and in the back, blocked by long grasses, she thought more water glittered.
She'd expected a Zen garden, and what she got was straight out of the Tale of Genji. Was this his idea, or his mother's?
"In here," the demon lord said, sliding a shoji panel open. He followed her in and went about opening other doors to let the sunlight in.
Kagome looked around, lips parting in wonder. The silk wall screens were painted with various scenes in monochrome - a storm of butterflies on one side, a simple mountain scene on the other. On a low table, backed by curtain stands, were ink prints of scenes it took her a minute to realize she knew. "That's Rome," she said, dropping ungracefully onto her knees in front of the table. "This too." She tapped the second, a print of the coliseum. "Where did these come from?"
Sesshomaru dropped soundlessly into seiza beside her. "My mother brought them from the mainland." He took the coliseum print, mindful of his claws, and offered it to her. "So you do know what they are."
"Of course." She took the parchment. "I've never been there, but I've seen pictures. My friend brought tons of them back from her vacation. What are these? I haven't seen anything like this in Japan." Not this Japan, anyway, she amended silently. Western art was everywhere in the future, but it must be completely new to the people of this era.
"Copper etchings," he said, tasting the phrase carefully and seeming to find it lacking.
"Wow." Kagome placed the print back on the table reverently. "Did she bring anything else back? Like a painting? Or a paradise box?"
His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Paradise box?"
"Yeah, it's like a peeping box - you look inside and see a three-dimensional picture. But I don't know when those came around..." Kagome tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"A 'peeping box,'" he repeated, eyebrow tilting again. He seemed to taste that phrase too, his composure breaking just enough for his eyes to narrow in thought. "That sounds rather vulgar."
Kagome giggled and clapped her hands over her mouth. Bad Kagome, don't laugh at the demon lord! - but another round of giggles bubbled up. He looked so confused, when she snuck a glance at him from the corner of her eye, that she almost felt bad. She shook her head rapidly when he met her eyes, hair flying.
"Hn," was the only response he graced her with, but the soft shadows and the gleam in his eyes showed he was almost smiling.