"Ono-gimi..." Murasaki murmured softly, gently caressing the hand of her husband, Minamoto no Yoshimoto.
They sat quietly together within the privacy of the northern garden, sheltered beneath the cool canopy of a great, shady tree. Before them, the clear waters of their private Koi pond glimmered under the dappled sunlight, a school of vibrant, colourful fish swimming lazily past the rocks.
"Hmm... Murasaki, I have told you before," Yoshimoto spoke, turning his gaze toward her. "You should call me by my true name when it is only the two of us."
Away from the prying eyes of the Imperial Court and the burdens of his clan, the fearsome commander was surprisingly gentle. He reached out, framing her face with his remaining hand, the sleeve of his opposite arm hanging loosely, the limb he had lost in past was seemingly still present beneath the heavy layer of protective talismans stitched into the silk.
"Kekekeke... then you should tell me to do so at least one more time, then," Murasaki replied with a soft, teasing laugh, though her eyes remained unusually glassy and distant.
Yoshimoto's expression softened further, his brow furrowing slightly. "Mmmmmm…" he nodded.
"Tell me what is wrong. Your mind seems to drift far too often lately." Murasaki spoke quietly, shifting out of his embrace, turning her attention to a small woven basket sitting on the wooden veranda between them. She opened the lid, her fingers tracing the edge.
"Ah... I suppose I am just worried. A little worried about Yorimitsu..." Yoshimoto spoke
"Ha. Truly?" Murasaki replied, a faint, wry smile touching her lips.
"Well, you certainly didn't seem so uncomposed when you initially sent him away," Murasaki retorted, a sharp, familiar scowl crossing her features.
She had strongly opposed the decision to send Yorimitsu out on that perilous vanguard assignment from the very beginning. She had only ultimately relented because of the absolute, stubborn reassurance she had received from both of the men in her life.
"Heh..." Yoshimoto chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. "It is not his lack of strength that concerns me. With the ancient seals of our ancestors looking over him, I am entirely certain he would survive even the absolute worst-case scenario. No... what is truly bothering me are those bastards from Koremochi's faction. I have received intelligence that the Taira are actively colluding with the Fujiwara clan now."
Murasaki's hands paused over the basket, her brow furrowing deeply. "What? The Taira and the Fujiwara? I was under the distinct impression that those two houses were bitter enemies..."
"Tch... so did I," Yoshimoto spat, his expression darkening as he stared at the shifting Koi in the pond. "But during the period when our clan was crippled by that curse, they apparently found common ground. They have been steadily consolidating their authority within the court behind our backs. I am deeply concerned that they may be preparing to make a move against us."
Murasaki quietly reached for a ceramic flask, her composure returning as she poured him a fresh, shallow cup filled with clear sake.
"Mmmm... well, you are vastly stronger now than you ever were before," Murasaki spoke, her voice laced with an unshakeable, fierce pride as she offered him the drink. "You know how they work, too. I am entirely certain that whatever underhanded schemes they throw at us you will hold the line against them. Just like the great leader you have always been."
Yoshimoto took the cup with his remaining hand and drained it in a single, fluid motion.
"Ahhhhh..."
Exhaling a long breath, he leaned his head back against the bark of the shady tree, his gaze drifting up toward the vast, clear sky.
"Thank you, Murasaki," he murmured aloud, his tense shoulders finally relaxing. "My mind is at ease now."
Yet, as he looked at her serene face, his thoughts took a darker, silent turn. 'Though... I know you are still suffering deeply beneath that calm facade, my love. The haunting thoughts of how that child was abused must be eating away at your soul. Even though the fault does not lie with you... You still desperately want to make it up to him, don't you?'
…
On the opposite side of the sprawling Minamoto compound, Hikaru sat within one of the traditional estate buildings. Surrounding her were several elderly, sharp-tongued court women, each strictly instructing her in the delicate arts of Onnade calligraphy, the intricate protocols of Yosokukojitsu court ceremonies, and the rhythmic complexities of Kangen traditional music.
"Come now, Princess, let us attempt the melody once more," one of the old servants commanded, reaching forward to firmly correct the angle of Hikaru's wrist over the strings of the koto. "This time, ensure your hand remains slightly looser when you strike the note. The tones must ring out clean, yet remain tightly disciplined."
"Tch... why must I endlessly practice instruments originating from the Nara period?" Hikaru protested, deliberately pulling her fingers away from the instrument. "We are living in a completely new era now..."
The old woman let out a long, theatrical sigh, shaking her head.
"Come now, young lady, these are absolutely necessary skills for a woman of your standing. Word has reached us that the Fujiwara clan has dispatched yet another formal marriage proposal. Tell me, would you truly wish to bring shame upon the entire House of Minamoto with a complete lack of courtly refinement? Just imagine the cruel gossip... 'Oh, look at the grand noble lady of the Minamoto, possessing no artistic talent whatsoever. Oh, how far that legendary house must have fallen.'"
Truthfully, while the elderly attendants genuinely wanted to guide Hikaru toward a prosperous future, their current strictness was fueled by an immense, pent-up excitement to finally return to their prestigious duties.
During the dark, agonising years of the Minamoto clan's decline, the servants had been forced to hide their affiliation; speaking of their noble house in public would only invite mockery and scoffing from the local populace. But ever since Yorimitsu had entered the academy and proven his mettle, the historic fame of the Minamoto lineage was steadily resurrecting.
Rumours that the powerful Fujiwara were aggressively seeking to reconnect with them through marriage had spread like wildfire, forcing the common people of the Capital to look upon the Minamoto name with deep respect and trust once more.