It was mid-morning by the time Sesshoumaru returned to the castle with the hanyou. He retraced his steps over the wall and onto his veranda, sending the creature inside once it caught up. Alone, he made his way to the practice fields to speak with the Warmaster. Sesshoumaru wanted to test the half-breed against greater dangers to see if and how its fire would adapt again, which would require traveling further from the castle than before to avoid any of his father’s scouts spying his great self with the thing. That creature was unfit in its current state to make such a journey, however, and he was unwilling to allow its weakness to become his burden. It required training. Even the most basic would suffice, but how to accomplish that without seeming to give the hanyou more attention than it deserved? To that end, Sesshoumaru decided he would have Kazawa included in the training.

        The young prince presumed it would be effortless for the Warmaster to handle both servants, but Sesshoumaru would not mention the hanyou specifically. The thought of Rekkonji’s expression when he discovered that creature to be his second charge for the task made Sesshoumaru’s lips curl malevolently. Being forced to manage the thing would be a wonderful vengeance for the disgraceful manner in which the Warmaster had been treating this Sesshoumaru. Yes, this would work well, indeed. By his estimate, the journey with his father would take perhaps a month. While he did not consider it an adequate amount of time for the Warmaster to suffer for what he had done, it would surely be long enough for even the hanyou to be prepared for what the young prince had planned.

            Sesshoumaru watched from a distance as Rekkonji finished his current session with one of his lieutenants, and he waited for the other demon to move before approaching. Sesshoumaru braced mentally, readying for the short game of polite wordplay he knew he would have to endure. Rekkonji was surprised to see the young prince today, but offered him an appropriate greeting nevertheless.

        “Good afternoon, my lord.” Rekkonji addressed Sesshoumaru politely. “Forgive me, I thought today you would be preparing to leave with your father.”

         “Good afternoon, Warmaster. Indeed, chichi-ue and I will be leaving soon. I have many preparations to make, including a few for my return, if it would not be a burden.” Rekkonji blinked, nearly shocked by Sesshoumaru’s graceful and courteous language, and gave a slight nod for him to continue. “Once father’s business is complete, I desire to leave the castle for a time. It is only proper that a lord be attended, yet those who would join me seem more suited to stitching and gardening…” He let his tone trail off.

        Rekkonji read the unspoken parts of Sesshoumaru’s statements; he wanted the Warmaster to train his servants while he was away, and he considered for a moment. “It would be my honor to assist my lord with finding a solution to this predicament in whatever way I am able. My lord has but to ask.”

        “I am grateful, then, that father’s Warmaster is so generous and considerate.” Sesshoumaru’s tone was strained, unable to obfuscate that his words were contrived, and Rekkonji winced inwardly.

        The Warmaster exchanged a polite nod with the young prince nevertheless. ‘At least he is making an attempt on his own…’ He thought to himself as he watched Sesshoumaru return to the castle. ‘That is more than I honestly expected so soon.’

        Inside with Aoki and Kazawa, Kuroihi was lost in thought. She found it difficult to move past the fact that she was alive at all and back in this place. The incident at the mountain played in her mind over and over, and she imagined such a tumble would have been trivial to someone like the General or even the ogre she’d encountered with Aoki and Kazawa. For her, however, it most assuredly would have been lethal.

        ‘If not for that purple fire…’ she thought.

        She stared at her hands in wonderment. She’d never felt or seen anything like those flames before. What else was she capable of? She felt she had grown stronger and more resilient just in the past two months; she was even healing faster than before. If she continued to endure these hardships at her master’s hand, could she grow strong enough to make it on her own? Would she even survive that long? As far as she understood, half-breeds only lived for about 500 years at best, and she was already nearing 200. The castle kept her soft, weak, and ignorant, but it also kept her safe. Would she be wise to instead remain and live out her life in relative peace?

        Yes, but no.

        She refused to die in this place. She would leave here, make a life of her own whatever it may be, and maybe even find her family. Such things had only been distant fantasies to her before, now she believed them possible. She would make them so. The thought soothed her heart and she clung to it. The goal was clear, but the path was still undefined. She didn’t have to decide this very moment, though, so instead reveled in miracle of her continued existence and the warm peace it brought her. Unfortunately, the peace was short-lived. Sesshoumaru arrived in his quarters sometime later, bringing along the foreboding air that followed wherever he went. No matter how she tried, Kuroihi could not stop her hope from twisting again into hate at the very sight of the man that had tried to murder her. It only served to strengthen her conviction.

        The rest of that day and all the next were spent readying the General and his son for their journey north to the Tengu tribe holdings. Armor and weapons were tested and polished, kimonos were stitched and boots were preened. Touga chatted idly with his retainers, while Sesshoumaru’s worked in their usual tense silence. On the morning of departure, Sesshoumaru addressed his servants.

        “The Warmaster has been gracious enough to extend an opportunity for you to improve your meager combat talents in my absence.” He purred with condescension. “You will also have my winter kimono repaired when I return.”

        Each of them murmured their understanding, exchanging a variety of expressions with each other as they finished readying their lord for his journey. Once everything was complete, Aoki and Kazawa followed Sesshoumaru out to the courtyard to send him off while Kuroihi remained behind in Sesshoumaru’s quarters.

        Her master’s words slithered like ice in Kuroihi’s veins, twisting in her stomach and making her nauseous. Sesshoumaru had specified the stitch work to exclude Aoki from the Warmaster’s training, but nothing for Kuroihi. She was meant to join Kazawa on the practice field. It was not the thought of the training that made her uneasy, but the level of exposure such an endeavor would require. Of course there were vassals at the castle that knew of Kuroihi’s presence, but they were few and bound to silence through propriety. To acknowledge or speak of the hanyou was nearly taboo. How would the others who were unaware of her react when she began parading around one of the Warmaster’s practice fields? Out in plain view, no doubt making a ruckus that would only draw more attention to her.

        Kuroihi swallowed the bile rising in her throat and fought against the creeping fear of social censure. She had to endure it; the whispers, the inevitable harassment. She would have no future beyond these walls if she could not.

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        As was usual in Touga’s absence, Rekkonji was left in charge of the castle-base. He made no attempt to meddle in Fuyutoka’s management of the vassals and day-to-day tasks, for they were neither his concern nor forte, and instead focused on the request Sesshoumaru had made of him. Through Fuyutoka and Touga, he was aware of Sesshoumaru’s current detail of servants, and so prepared only for Kazawa. It was well known that Aoki was not suited to combat and thus not expected to be included, and Rekkonji presumed the same was true of the female half-breed he’d heard Sesshoumaru had been toying with lately. Exactly why the young prince was doing so was beyond him, but that, too, was none of his business.

        Once he was ready, Rekkonji sent for Kazawa to join him on one of the small practice fields. To his surprise, Kazawa arrived with the hanyou in tow. The pair bowed to the Warmaster in respectful greeting, and he took a moment to examine them both. Kazawa was much the same as Rekkonji remembered, but the half-breed was quite different. Was this truly the same whelp that had been tossed to Touga and himself all those decades ago? Yes, there was no mistaking those ears, nor her half-breed scent. The last time Rekkonji had seen her, she’d been no taller than his navel, her ears floppy and covered in peach fuzz. Now, she came to about his shoulder, her ears were stiff and alert and had full tufts of black fur at the ends. All in all, a healthy specimen.

        ‘Remarkable that she has remained here for so long,’ he thought to himself, ‘I expected her to have fled or faded into obscurity by now.’ He resisted the urge to frown. ‘Sesshoumaru cannot be planning anything good for this creature, to have her trained like this.’

        But, again, it was not his business.

        “It has been some time, Kazawa-san,” Rekkonji said, exchanging a polite nod with the younger male before turning his attention to the half-breed, “but I do not think I am yet acquainted with you, female.”

        Rekkonji’s tone indicated he expected an introduction from her, but Kuroihi’s throat closed up and her mouth ran dry. His lack of condescension only put her on edge, and all she could do was drop her head in acknowledgement of his words.

        Rekkonji blinked. “She is unable to speak?” he asked Kazawa, who shook his head in the negative, then looked back to the female. “I see. Then…” His tone trailed, silently offering her a second opportunity to speak for herself. He could hear her heart race, could smell her apprehension. She was reacting like a prey creature.

        Kazawa nudged Kuroihi with his elbow, lips pursed in embarrassment with her, and it freed her throat enough for her to speak. Her voice came out as a strained whisper, for she was as equally ashamed of her inability to respond appropriately due to her own fear. “This one is sometimes called ‘Kuroihi’, honorable Warmaster.” She bent almost completely at the waist in a formal bow.

        Rekkonji grunted, satisfied, and nodded his head just so in return. “A pleasure to meet you. I am Rekkonji. I presume you are both aware of your purpose here.” He said, addressing them both. Each nodded that they understood, and he continued. “Good, then let us begin.”

            For the first few days, Rekkonji ran the pair through basic assessment exercises. He was unsurprised to find Kazawa was fairly adept, while Kuroihi was all but lost. In fact, she was hesitant to move at all, seeming to expect some form of castigation from the slightest motions. If Kazawa felt the same way, he either did not show it or was used to it at this point. By the end of the fourth day, Rekkonji was nearly grinding his teeth with irritation.

        ‘Sesshoumaru is well within his rights, and she is just a half-demon… Still, this conditioning from that temper of his makes it difficult for her training to progress.’  Rekkonji thought to himself, wondering if she could be trained at all. He had a task to complete, however, and a challenge of sorts from the young prince to answer. ‘I’ll not let my reputation be sullied because of that entitled brat’s ignorant idiosyncrasies.’

            Instead of addressing the situation directly, which would be crass, Rekkonji lectured them on the importance of having a broad and clear field of vision. To enforce his point, he took them into the nearby wilds, running them through ambush and tracking drills. Soon, the hanyou rose her head of her own accord during practice, and Rekkonji marked a distinct improvement in her performance as the weeks passed. She moved on her own, learned to anticipate, and was often more enthusiastic than Kazawa. To Rekkonji’s surprise, she went so far as to volunteer during an archery exercise.

            The Warmaster’s question of who would take their shots first was a formality, really. In proper form, it should have been the older and higher ranking Kazawa. When he hesitated, however, Kuroihi stepped forward and waited for Rekkonji’s permission to begin. It was an arrogant gesture for one such as her, but with no protest from Kazawa, the Warmaster let it pass. Her racing heart and shaking hands as she took aim betrayed that she understood the significance of what she had done. But the look in her eyes told Rekkonji that these were not the actions of upstart scraping for status, but a creature with the desire to survive.

            The half-breed was a tenacious and determined thing, it seemed, and the Warmaster was confidant she would be ready by the time Sesshoumaru returned.

______________________________________________________________________________

            While Rekkonji might have been satisfied with Kuroihi’s performance, the same could not be said about Fuyutoka. The Overseer was in an absolute tizzy. For decades, he had struggled to keep that filthy mongrel hidden, and now all the staff was abuzz with the news: there was a half-demon in the castle! Everyone knew the General was considered kind-hearted for a demon, still they could hardly believe it. Why was such a creature here? For how long? And for her to don Lord Sesshoumaru’s slate grey, why, the scandal was almost more than any of them could stand! Wild suppositions spread in whispers behind sleeves and fans or in the baths. The older servants and those already aware of Kuroihi’s presence held their tongues in accordance with propriety, viciously scolding the younger and gossip-prone.

        No matter what they thought personally, none at the castle had the right to question their masters’ motivations or to slander their reputations, even unintentionally. Slowly, the gossip faded back into silence. Some of the servants decided that if they could not speak of the half-breed, they would acknowledge her existence in their own ways. Turning a blind eye to their activities, Fuyutoka silently encouraged them.

        The castle seemed to have its own pulse now, and Kuroihi was painfully attuned to it. The walls seemed to echo the unintelligible whispers of the other staff, shadows crawled along the walls when no one else was around, and the already cramped space of her tiny closet seemed to shrink. She began waking in the night, swearing she heard the sounds of people outside the storage room where she slept, or from the passing of a dark figure across the open window slats. Each incident shot a new thread of panic through her until every muscle in her body ached from the constant tension.

        Kuroihi returned one night to find her storage room had been visited while she was on the training field. There were footprints in the dust on the floor where there hadn’t been before. Perhaps one of the rare quartermaster visits to sift through some of the General’s old things? She had seen back rooms like her own subjected to such searches before. Yes, that had to be it. When she found items in the room had been shifted about, she took it as a confirmation of her suspicions and found comfort in the thought. ‘They shouldn’t be back again, not for another two decades or so.’, she thought. But then her tattered blanket went missing, and bits of the ratty textiles she used as padding atop her thin and hard futon slowly began disappearing. This wasn’t the quartermaster’s doing after all, and she could barely smell anything through the dust and musk to discover who the culprits were. She considered finding a new place to sleep at that point. Someone clearly knew where she stayed and was taunting her.

        The night she came back to discover her futon gutted and its contents scattered about the room forced her to act. She had no choice but to leave her closet now. She absconded to the relative safety of the castle sublevel, but it served her well for only a few nights. Somehow, she was discovered again, and as she fled to find another dark corner to hide in, she swore she saw the silhouette of Aoki down the hall. The set of the older female’s shoulders and particular hairstyle were hard to mistake, even as the shape melted into the darkness of a distant hall. Was she the one divulging Kuroihi’s whereabouts? Kuroihi suspected so, perhaps in league with the furious and shamed Fuyutoka. He had failed to keep the half-breed’s presence a secret, and from what Kuroihi over heard, his underlings were teasing him for it in their own ways. Perhaps this was his manner of atonement.

        Kuroihi continued to slip from closet to closet, between floors, and into every nook and cranny that she could find to evade her pursuers. They continued to track and corner her, sometimes loitering noisily outside or rapping on the door to her hiding place, other times going so far as to pull from her sleeping space and chase her through the halls. This was a hunt now, and she was the rabbit. She could not leave the castle, for she would not survive, and yet she could not stay. She’d employed every hiding place available to her several times over, failing each time to elude her hunters. How did they manage it every night, and why did they persist? What had she done to deserve their torment, and where else could she possibly go?!

        An idea dawned on her one night, twisted and perverted: Lord Sesshoumaru’s quarters.

        She despised the idea of returning to his wing any sooner than she had to, for nothing but nightmares awaited her there, but it was the only place she could think where the rest of the staff simply would not venture.… But what if she was wrong? Just how far would they go for their entertainment? Would they risk the ire and abuse of her master? The more she thought about it, the more tolerable the idea became. If they did choose to follow her into that place, to trespass in the dastardly prince’s domain, Lord Sesshoumaru would know of it when he returned with his father and would most certainly make his displeasure known.

        Kuroihi scolded herself for her own temerity, but found she was truly out of options. Ever so carefully, she secured a place for herself beyond the painted shouji doors and waited. The first night passed, and then another, and another, and there was nothing. She’d finally found somewhere she could sleep in peace, somewhere she could be safe. It was almost ironic, to seek shelter here, but it was working. She would have to find another place again when her master returned, but she could handle that when the time came. She closed every window in her new room, locked the door to the closet every night, and prayed for her faceless ancestors to keep her safe.