24991122 | 2056

  Court of the Cherry Blossom | Kagetsu-no-Kami | The Bay

  1°17′06.00″ N

  103°51′06.12″ E

  Saito stood hand clasped before him.

  He stood at the heart of the Kagetsu-no-Kami.

  He took a breath, composing himself.

  He just spoke to a person of great import.

  He believed it went very well.

  “Arashi-sama.”

  A woman’s voice.

  “Aya-dono.” He replied, turning slightly toward her.

  “Mori-sama brings word for you, Arashi-sama.

  Shirley Tempess has accepted your invitation.”

  “Has she? I see. It has been some time.” He said, “I look forward to speaking with her again.”

  They paused to bow to a passing delegate.

  “If I may, Arashi-sama… I was not aware that she would attend tonight.” Aya said.

  “I was not aware either,” Saito admitted, “Mori discovered it when reviewing the guest registry.”

  “Then perhaps le Fay-dono’s ambition has widened,” Aya remarked, “to send Shirley Tempess all the way here.”

  “Or perhaps,” he offered calmly, “she is here on leisure. A holiday.”

  Aya exhaled, almost a sigh.

  “Who can say? The ways of EVECorp are beyond my understanding.”

  Saito hummed in agreement.

  “Mori-sama mentioned she arrived with Wei-Clarke-san,” Aya continued.

  “Ah. Yes... that gentleman.” Saito tried to recall.

  “One of our business partners, is he not?”

  “Not yours, Arashi-sama. Mine.” Aya smiled. “Wei-Clarke-san assisted with the EUNESCO Rich Heritage of the East exhibition in Kyoto.”

  “Is that so?” Saito nodded.

  “Then I am glad he is here. I should speak with this most capable partner.”

  “And I,” Aya’s eyes softened as she stood beside him beneath the glowing branches. “Her reputation walks ahead of her.”

  Saito inhaled slowly.

  A controlled breath.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I am acquainted with that reputation.”

  Aya tilted her head, curious.

  A slight smile touched her lips.

  Saito kept his gaze upon the sakura tree.

  Its sacred blossoms drifted lazily beneath the dome.

  The Court of the Cherry Blossom breathed with its own quiet.

  Lantern-light washed the pale petals in soft gold, and the faint, artificial breeze that preserved the tree’s climate stirred the branches with reverence.

  Saito stood with hands lightly clasped before him, listening to Aya’s gentle voice.

  “In truth,” he continued, voice calm, unhurried, entirely polite,

  “Tempess-dono… The depths of that lady cannot be measured.”

  Aya blinked.

  Saito allowed himself a minute exhale.

  “She appears where I do not expect her. She interferes where she is not invited. And she wins… far too often.”

  Aya’s hand rose lightly to her lips as she tried not to laugh.

  “Arashi-sama,” she whispered, “you sound almost… defeated.”

  “Aya-dono,” he replied gravely, “I am entirely defeated.”

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  Then a tiny, ironic bow of his head.

  “And she has not even arrived yet.”

  Aya’s eyes softened with amusement.

  “It seems Shirley Tempess remains the only adversary capable of unbalancing you.”

  Saito finally looked at his wife.

  “In this sacred place,” he murmured, “beneath this tree… I had hoped for one peaceful evening.”

  Aya smiled gently.

  “Perhaps,” she murmured, “how do the gaijins say it? The night is still young?”

  Saito’s silence was answer enough.

  “Oh, she is here.” Aya said.

  He spotted them from afar.

  Saito stood up straight, his hands lightly clasped before him.

  Aya composed herself.

  Mori appeared at the top of the terrace.

  Aya smiled softly.

  “Ah. They are punctual.”

  Saito allowed the faintest exhale through his nose.

  “Yes. They always are.”

  Mori came before them, bowing deeply as he announced their approach.

  “Arashi-sama. Aya-dono. They have arrived.”

  Saito nodded.

  The sound of approaching footsteps sounded.

  Damian Wei-Clarke looked exasperated about something, his expression a mixture of worry and strained self-composure.

  Then he saw her.

  A step ahead of her companion.

  Unhurried, serene, as if gliding across a stage set for her alone.

  Her eyes wandering.

  She paused ten paces away.

  She adjusted the lapels of the deep-blue Astraria Maison overcoat, draped over her shimmering white gown.

  She straightened as a stray breeze caught the sakura above them.

  Petals drifted.

  Moonlight pooled through the dome.

  Spilling radiant across her coat, her hair, her eyes.

  Saito’s breath caught in his throat.

  Storm-blue.

  Sea-glass.

  Moonlit white.

  The drifting cherry blossom.

  The world stilled.

  “Perfect.” He whispered.

  Aya looked at him questioningly.

  A memory.

  The Emperor’s gift.

  Their parting words on that night, came unbidden.

  The poem entrusted to him.

  He did not recite it.

  He could not.

  His throat tightened.

  Tsuki hitotsu.

  He mouthed.

  Ichirin no hana.

  Aya turned sharply to him.

  “Arashi-sama?”

  Curiosity, not alarm.

  He blinked once, slowly, steadying himself.

  “Nothing,” he murmured. “Just… a memory.”

  But his eyes remained locked on Shirley Tempess.

  She looked up.

  Smiled.

  She came before them.

  24991121 | 0019

  Sentosa Cove | Private Marina | People’s Republic of Singapore

  1°14′51.60″ N

  103°49′55.08″ E

  The marina slept.

  Rows of yachts dozed in their berths, rocking faintly in the tide.

  The moon cast a silver pathway across the water.

  Unbroken, serene, soft as breath.

  She walked straight to the very end of the furthest pier, as though she knew the place by heart.

  Her heels clicked softly on the wooden planks.

  Then stopped.

  She slipped them off without ceremony, dangling the delicate shoes loosely from two fingers. Barefoot now, she stepped to the edge and lowered herself into a sitting position.

  Her dress pooled around her, toes brushing the glossy surface of the sea.

  Then, with a faint sigh.

  She dipped her legs into the water.

  Moonlight scattered across the ripples she made.

  The breeze shifted her hair.

  Her silhouette softened.

  He watched her from far.

  And Damian froze.

  He felt there were so far away from the woman he met atop the Lumen.

  He approached her.

  He tried not to disturb the silence.

  She didn’t look at him.

  He stood behind her.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Go on,” she said softly, “the water’s fine.”

  A soft sound broke the silence.

  A clicking, subtle but unmistakable.

  His leather shoes.

  He was pulling them off awkwardly, like a man suddenly unsure what to do.

  Then the quiet shuffle of socks.

  A small curse under his breath.

  A nervous laugh.

  She reached up.

  Her hands closed around his.

  She gently pulled him down.

  Down, to sit beside her.

  Their feet slipped into the moon-cooled water together, bare skin meeting the calm surface.

  He sat stiffly at first, staring straight ahead.

  They sat together in the silence.

  “Hear that?” She asked.

  “I didn’t hear anything.” He replied.

  She smiled.

  “I like it here,” She said softly, “it’s quiet.”

  He laughed softly.

  “You sound like you’ve been here a dozen times.”

  She swung her legs gently through the water.

  “Maybe I have.”

  The lap of water against the pier.

  “Listen,” she said again.

  Damian blinked, turning toward her.

  “What do you hear?”

  “I still hear nothing,” he replied, not comprehending.

  She smiled.

  Soft, knowing, wistful.

  “The world is quieter here,” she said again.

  Her voice was barely above the tide.

  “You can finally hear it.”

  He looked at her.

  Her eyes drifted toward the moonlit water.

  “The sea,” she whispered.

  He finally caught up.

  “You used to love it.”

  The words came back to him then.

  Monaco.

  He stared at her.

  “That was a long time ago.” He said, “I just casually mentioned it.”

  She smiled, looking out to the horizon.

  “I remember,” she said.

  Shirley folded her knees up against her chest, resting her chin lightly on them.

  Another curl of moonlight rippled over her skin.

  Her hair shifted.

  The soft rustle of fabric.

  He caught sight of her neck for a moment.

  The faintest of bruising.

  A small blemish.

  His throat tightened.

  Last night.

  Passionate.

  Reckless.

  Messy in the way only brand-new lovers are.

  “What?” she turned as he turned her head.

  Her hand instinctively went up, concealing the mark from view.

  Damian turned away.

  “Hey…” he said softly as he sought her hands, “about last night…”

  She looked at him.

  “I’m… really sorry. I wasn’t thinking—"

  She placed a finger to his lips.

  Her smile was warm.

  Effortless.

  “It’s fine, darling.” She whispered.

  “It’s not. I shouldn’t have—"

  She laughed, “it will be gone by morning.”

  He blinked.

  “I didn’t mean it.” He said hoarsely, “I — I lost myself.”

  Shirley stepped closer.

  Her eyes soft.

  Her hand touched his cheek gently.

  She rested her head upon his shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, silly.” She whispered. “The past is the past.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him.

  A gentle kiss.

  The quiet settled between them.

  “Shirls… earlier, in the car,” He said after a moment, “you said people drown in light, not water. What did you mean?”

  She did not look at him when she answered.

  “Some places make you forget what matters. The lights are too bright. The noise is too loud.”

  He waited, listening.

  “You get blinded. You start looking at the wrong priorities.”

  She dipped her toes deeper into the water.

  “But here… you can hear your own thoughts again.”

  He just looked at her.

  She turned then.

  Slowly.

  Gently.

  Both hands lifted, her palms cradling his cheeks tenderly.

  Warm.

  Honest.

  He inhaled sharply.

  Their foreheads brushed.

  She withdrew her feet.

  She clambered to her knees.

  Her body close to his.

  He can feel her heat, smoldering.

  He can feel her breath, close.

  He can hear her heart, beat.

  She looked at him.

  Midnight-black hair.

  Storm-filled eyes.

  Salt-drenched lips.

  Her hands caressed his face.

  He whispered, almost without sound:

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  She kissed him.