Even in the dark of night, the air was so hot and still it was stifling. Fanning herself before the open window, Sumire waited for the servants to finish filling the tub. When the door whisked shut behind them, she turned and peeled off her light silken robe, approaching the bath on padded footsteps. The chill spring water gleamed, rippling like beaten silver. Lotus flowers drifted, wheeling across the mirrored surface, as if buffeted by some conjured breeze.

Sumire had once loathed cold baths with a passion. In the past she would rather have stayed sweltering in her silks. But with the end of her whoring days, she’d no longer felt the need to scald herself clean. A cold bath now suited her just fine, on these balmy summer nights where no other reprieve could be found.

Still she shuddered as she sank into the chill, fragrant waters. The lotus blossoms spun before her afresh. Scooping one up in the cup of her palm, she traced her thumb along the soft pale spades of its petals. A thing of beauty, plucked in its prime. Though she could not yet see it, already in her hand the flower was fading. So too, she thought, must all living things fade, plucked or no. If there was a heaven, then maybe there the flowers bloomed eternal. In the gardens of the gods, perhaps. But not here. Not in this world.

Here, beauty had its season. It must be reaped in the ripeness of its time.

Sumire lowered her hand and the flower floated free once more. She thought of her daughter Shurei, soon now to be married. For many years, Sumire had bent her mind toward finding the perfect husband for her precious girl. Kohaku’s gifts of gold over the years had ensured a more than substantial dowry for her.

Yet Sumire was a woman of no small means herself. She was the proprietress of several lucrative establishments in the city, of which the whorehouse was merely one. Through these ventures, she had elevated her status, and Shurei’s in turn. Many folk had forgotten that Sumire had ever been a whore herself. But not all. Not the best families, of course. Sumire was a realist. She set her sights for Shurei on the merchant class. To this end, she’d seen that Shurei was properly educated, cultured and refined. Sumire had hired esteemed tutors, sparing no expense. Shurei was a quick child, bright and bold and gregarious. With her natural beauty and grace, she was a match fit for a king—but a prosperous merchant’s heir would do.

With care, Sumire scoured the city for a likely candidate. Wealth, in her mind, was not the most important factor. Above all, the young man must be a good match in temperament for her strong-willed daughter. After that, the family must be a good-natured one. Sumire couldn’t abide the thought of Shurei’s in-laws treating her cruelly.

In Inoki Kouta, Sumire found the ideal match. She was acquainted with his family already, for the Inoki clan traded with her in rice, silk, and other sundries. Tactfully, she broached the subject of the match, to which they were amenable. Sumire was pleased. All that was left was to arrange the omiai.

And this was where the trouble had begun.

Four years older than Shurei, Kouta was a tall young man, fair in appearance. He was quiet, soft-spoken. Thoughtful when he did speak. Far from frail, yet perhaps because of his reserve he might appear weak to some. Timid even, though Sumire did not judge him so. But Shurei was young, quick to form snap judgments of her own. Face-to-face with the sharp, fiery girl, Kouta paled in her presence. He liked her, this Sumire could see. But her beauty and spirit seemed to exacerbate his shyness. As the omiai progressed, he clammed up altogether. Afterward, Shurei was ruthless.

“I don’t like him,” she said hotly, the moment they arrived home. “I don’t like him at all,” she added with a stamp. “He looks sickly, and he barely said three words to me! If he were my husband, I’d throw myself into the river out of boredom.”

Sumire frowned. “He is healthy, I assure you. A bit withdrawn, perhaps. But he will warm to you.”

“I don’t want him to warm to me! What is he, a rock?” Shurei shook her head in contempt. “Anyway, I already have someone I like. I didn’t want to tell you because I know you’ve gone to so much trouble to arrange this match for me. But I can’t go on like this, Mother. If you wed me to Inoki Kouta, I will surely die.”

Now it was Sumire’s turn to grow pale. “This someone,” she asked, “who is he?”

His name was Sanada Tousuke. He was an aristocrat, the youngest son of an ancient house whose estate lay just outside of the city. Obviously, Sumire did not travel in such circles. Yet she made inquiries, and what she discovered about this young man pleased her not. If he favored her daughter, she was far from the only one. Despite his youth, Tousuke was a womanizer and gambler of some repute. Handsome, boisterous, and strapping as he was, Sumire could see why her daughter fancied him. But to her mind this was an ill-suited match in every conceivable way. With all the tact she possessed, Sumire tried to communicate this to Shurei, but her headstrong daughter could not be moved.

“See, Mother,” Shurei said bitterly, “this is why I didn’t tell you sooner. I knew you wouldn’t understand. I knew you’d only see Tousuke-kun for his past faults. But he is different now. He has grown from all of that. He loves me, and I love him.”

A checkered past Sumire could certainly forgive. But having observed the young man firsthand, if this Sanada Tousuke had changed his ways, Sumire would throw herself into the river. No, she suspected he’d only gotten better at disguising them.

Still, there was clearly no arguing these suspicions of his character with Shurei. Trusting that his family would never consent to their union and that this fact would discourage her, Sumire told her daughter she would go and speak with his parents about proposing a match. Shurei was delighted. Sumire was resigned. Fruitless as she hoped this Sanada Tousuke venture would prove, she would not play the Inoki family false. Her honor compelled her to break off Shurei’s prior engagement first. Before making the trip to the Sanada estate, she stopped by the Inoki residence to give them her regrets. The family was disappointed at the news, Kouta most of all. Before Sumire had even finished speaking, in an uncharacteristic show of temper, he’d risen and strode from the room.

As Sumire exited through the gates, she was surprised to find him there, waiting for her it seemed. There was a touch of red high on his fair cheeks. As she approached, he met her with scroll in hand.

“Please, Sumire-dono,” Kouta said gravely, extending the scroll to her, “will you deliver this letter to Shurei-chan? It’s important that she read it.”

“Certainly, Kouta-kun,” Sumire said, with a rueful smile.

The young man nodded. Seeming a trifle more at ease, he returned to the house. Sumire went on her way.

The squalor of the Sanada estate surprised her. No doubt once a grand house, it had fallen into considerable disrepair. Sumire had seen country shacks better cared for than this. Yet she suppressed her misgivings as best she could, as she approached the main house. Apart from being rather dingy and squalid, the outlying courts were overrun with extended family. Half-naked children ran about everywhere, no doubt the sons and daughters of Tousuke’s elder brothers.

The overly warm reception Sumire received from his parents set her intuition that much more on edge. A noble family such as this should have spurned the very notion of receiving her in their midst, let alone wedding their son to her daughter, but instead they were ecstatic at the proposal, ensuring Sumire that they had known of Tousuke’s “great love” for Shurei for some time now. The greedy glint in their eyes betrayed their true motive. Sumire went away feeling disgusted, and more discouraged than ever. Were her daughter to marry into this family of impoverished aristocrats, they would forever be a leech upon her.

In this dismal state of mind, she returned home. Shurei practically pounced upon her as she passed through the gate, exclaiming in tearful joy at the news Tousuke’s parents had consented to the match. Sumire tried to muster a smile for her daughter, but it was beyond her. She was so upset by it all that she nearly forgot to deliver Kouta’s letter. Receiving it, Shurei scoffed, tossing the scroll aside.

“A love letter from him? Too little too late.”

“The least you could is read it, Shurei,” Sumire reproved, frowning wearily. “You owe him that much.”

“Tomorrow, maybe. I don’t want to think about him now. I only want to think about my dear Tousuke-kun.” Laughing happily, Shurei scooped up Yuki and twirled with her about the room. “Oh, Mother, when will we be married? Please say soon!”

Turning away from her, Sumire grimaced. She didn’t sleep a wink that night. Her thoughts were awhirl as to how to resolve this fiasco. Under no circumstances could she allow this marriage to proceed. But how could she do so without Shurei despising her for it? This Sumire could not puzzle out. Ultimately, she steeled herself to the purpose. If Shurei must hate her, then so be it. Better for her to remain a bitter spinster than to marry someone as roguish as Sanada Tousuke!

But with the first light of dawn, Sumire’s vehemence cooled. Or perhaps her sheer exhaustion wore it thin. In the clear light of day, she saw that there was nothing she could do to prevent Shurei from being with Tousuke, if this was what she wished. Sumire had raised her as best she could, watched over her as best she could, but Shurei was her own person. She must make her own decisions, and live by them. Sumire would voice her concerns, woman to woman, but that was all she could do. After that, she must let the chips fall where they may.

With this thought, her tired eyes slid shut at last. When she woke, it was well past midday.

Exiting her rooms, she emerged to find the servants and whores milling about in the courtyard, muttering amongst themselves in obvious concern. Seeing her approach, they fell silent, evasive. Sumire set her hands upon her hips and asked them what was the matter already.

“It’s Shurei-chan,” one of the girls answered at last. “She went out early this morning in a storm and returned home in tears. She’s been shut up in her room ever since; she’ll see no one.”

Sumire went to Shurei’s room at once. Sliding back the door, she entered uninvited into the gloom. Shurei lay face down upon her bed, with Yuki curled beside her. She didn’t so much as raise her head as Sumire padded closer across the tatami. Instead, the girl turned her face away. From the tear tracks on the pillow, it was clear she’d been crying only minutes before.

Sumire knelt. Carding her fingers through her daughter’s fine, dark hair, she asked, “Shurei, what’s wrong?”

At length, Shurei raised her blotchy, tearstained face. Her finger strayed pointing toward a table near the door. Atop it sat an unrolled scroll—the letter which Kouta had sent. Taking it up, Sumire skimmed it warily—

“…about Sanada Tousuke I think you should know…a few months ago a maidservant of ours was dismissed because she was discovered to be with child…I had happened to catch her with Sanada before this…she was a childhood friend of mine…I gave her my word I would tell no one…until now I have not…yet I felt I must tell you…although you and I are no longer to be wed…still I esteem you…it would pain me for you to marry him without knowing…”

As Sumire lowered the letter, Shurei burst out, “I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true. It’s all true! I saw the woman; she lives with her parents across the river now, the poor wretched thing. She still thinks ‘her Tousuke-kun’ is coming to marry her!” Shurei’s features twisted. “I confronted him, after. He denied it all, of course, but I could tell that he was lying. He’s lied to me before, only I didn’t want to see it. But I see it now. Oh, Mother, you were right about him! He’s a rotten scoundrel, and I never want to see him ever again!” Shurei’s voice broke from her in a miserable sob, “I feel like such a s-stupid, such a stupid little fool…”

Sumire collapsed at her daughter’s bedside in boneless relief. She gathered Shurei to her chest, held her there as she sobbed.

“Poor Kouta-kun…I spurned him, and yet he warned me anyway! Oh, I just feel so horrible about it all…”

Needless to say, the engagement between Shurei and Tousuke was promptly broken off. A few days later, Shurei, flushing sheepishly, bid her mother deliver a letter to Inoki Kouta. From then on a friendly correspondence between them was born. It seemed Kouta was far better at writing than speaking. But Shurei drew him out, eventually. In the gardens of the brothelhouse, she saw them sitting together, Shurei chatting amiably away.

“I must speak for him, Mother, he’s such a lump!” Shurei giggled. “But I don’t mind it, really. If I get something wrong, he’ll write me up for it later.”

On market days, Kouta came to fetch her, and they strolled together through the stands. Sometimes, Sumire glimpsed them, and smiled to herself. Her daughter was happy with her new friend, and that was all that mattered to her. Gods knew they could all use a break from matchmaking.

Then, one day, Shurei returned with her escort in a frightful, bloody state. Sumire raced to the gates to find the guards, whores and attendants clustered about them in shock. Shurei was distressed, sobbing. Kouta had been slashed across the chest. His face was ghostly, his eyes were shut.

“Get him inside!” Sumire shouted, and the guardsmen bore him within. To one of the servants, she snapped, “You! Go and fetch the doctor.”

The servant scampered off. Inside the cool hall, Kouta was laid out on a futon. Pulling her distraught daugher off him, Sumire removed his haori and roved her eyes over the wound. It appeared shallow to her, mercifully. In the tense minutes that ensued before the doctor arrived, Sumire took wads of cloth and stanched the wound as best she could.

“What happened?” she snapped to Shurei.

“Oh…oh, Mother,” Shurei choked out. “In the market we ran into Sanada Tousuke…he said something rude to me, and Kouta-kun hauled off and punched him, the fool!” Jerkily, she shook her head. “Tousuke’s a great big brute and he wears a sword, besides. He drew it and rounded on Kouta-kun. He slashed him once before I picked up a broom and whacked him across the head! While he was lying there in the dirt, I dragged up Kouta-kun and fled back here with him as fast as I could.”

Sumire absorbed this violent tale with mild shock. She knew her daughter was feisty, but this seemed extreme. Regardless, there lay Kouta, pale and slack while the doctor cleansed and bandaged his wound. When the old man was done, he drew back and humphed in disapproval. At whom, it was difficult to say.

“Oh, Kouta-kun,” Shurei cried, falling upon the prone young man again, “you brave idiot! If you live, I’ll marry you, I promise.”

Kouta’s eyes cracked open a sliver. The next day he was sitting upright, drinking the broth Shurei spooned to him in between her loving admonitions. One week later, they were engaged to be wed.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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