·:*¨༺ The Song ★Of Leonardo ༻¨*:·.

꩜ Chapter Two★彡⊹₊⋆.

I WAS SUMMONED TO THE JITO. I REMEMBER HATING THIS, the long walk up the endless throne room. At the front, I knelt on stone. Some lords chose to have rugs there for the knees of messengers who had long news to tell. My father preferred not to.

"Lord Endi's daughter is finally ready for marriage," he said.
I knew the name.
Endi Mirio was lord of Kyoto and held huge tracts of the ripest southern lands, the kind my father coveted. I had heard of his daughter too, rumored to be the fairest woman in our country.

Her mother, Aoyomi, was said to have been ravished by Raijin, the king of the gods himself, disguised as a swan.
Nine months later, her womb yielded a son, Raitaro.

Child of her mortal husband; Aoyomi and Fara, the shining cygnets of the god. But gods were known to be notoriously poor parents; it was expected that Lord Endi would offer patrimony to all.

I did not respond to my father's news. Such things meant nothing to me.

My father cleared his throat, loud in the silent chamber. His voice trembled with a familiar hesitancy. "We would do well to have her in our family. You will go and put yourself forth as a suitor." There was no one else in the hall, so my startled huff of breath was for his ears alone.

But I knew better than to speak my discomfort. My father already knew all that I might say: that I was nine, unsightly, unpromising, uninterested.

He looked away with a pained expression. I never found out exactly how grandfather convinced him to make me do this.

We left the next morning, our packs heavy with gifts and food for the
journey. Samurai escorted us, in their finest armor.

I don't remember much
of the trip—it was overland, through countryside that left no impression. At
the head of the column, my father dictated new orders to secretaries and
messengers who rode off in every direction.

I looked down at the leather
reins, smoothed their nap with my thumb. I did not understand my place
here.

It was incomprehensible, as so much of what my father did was. He was always so busy.
My horse swayed, and I swayed with him, glad for even this distraction.

-

We were not the first suitors to arrive at Endi's citadel. The stables were full of horses and mules, busy with servants. My father seemed displeased with the ceremony afforded us: I saw him rub a hand over the stone of the hearth in our rooms, frowning. I had brought a toy from home, a horse whose legs could move. I lifted one hoof, then the other, imagined that I had ridden him instead of the white horse, its coat disheveled. A samurai took pity on me and lent me his kendama. I rocked it back and forth, the ball that was connected by its string nearly hypnotizing me with its steady swing.

Finally, a day came in which my father ordered me bathed and brushed.
He had me change my tunic, then change again. I obeyed, though I saw no difference between the purple with gold or crimson with gold. Neither hid my knobby knees. My father looked powerful and severe, his snow-white ears tied back with dignity. The gift that we were presenting to Endi Mirio stood ready, a beaten-gold mixing bowl embossed with the story of the
princess Aki.
Raijin had wooed her in a shower of golden light, and she
had borne him Koro, Gorgon-slayer, second only to Ebisu among our
heroes. My father handed it to me.

"Do not disgrace us," he said. He was mocking my grandfather. I could tell from the way he lowered his voice and looked gruffer.

We both laughed.

-

I heard the great hall before I saw it, the sound of hundreds of voices
banging against stone walls, the clatter of goblets and armor. The servants
had thrown open the windows to try to dampen the sound; they had hung
tapestries, wealth indeed, on every wall.

I had never seen so many men and yokai inside before. Not men, I corrected myself. Lords. Emperors.

"Step forward." The jito called. My father's fingers
gently tapped on my shoulder, warning me not to fidget.

There was violence in that room, with so many princes and heroes and lords competing for a single prize, but we knew how to ape civilization. Pretend, if you will

One by one they introduced themselves, these young men, showing off
shining hair and neat waists and expensively dyed clothing. Many were the sons or grandsons of gods.

All had a song or two, or more, written of their deeds. Lord Mirio greeted each in turn, accepted their gifts in a pile at the center of the room. Invited each to speak and present his suit.

My father was the oldest among them, except for the tall man who, when his turn came, named himself Kumo. "A comrade of Ebisu." the man
beside us whispered, with an awe I understood. Ebisu was the greatest of
our heroes, and Kumo had been the closest of his companions, the only one still living.

His fur was gray, a rabbit like us, and his thick paws were all tendon, the sinewy dexterity that marked an archer. And indeed, a moment later he held up the largest bow I had ever seen, polished yew wood with a lionskin grip.

"The bow of Ebisu," Kumo named it, "given to me at his death." In our lands a bow was mocked as the weapon of cowards.
But no one could
say such a thing about this bow; the strength it would take to draw it humbled us all.

The next man, his eyes painted like a woman's, spoke his name.
"Imon, Emperor of Awaji Island."
He was lean, a human, and his long hair fell to his waist when he stood. He offered rare iron, a double-headed ax. "The symbol of my people." His movements reminded me of the dancers that my mother liked.

And then Shikoku, son of Anami, seated beside his hulking, bearlike
brother Juun. Shikoku's hair was a startling red, the color of fire-
forged bronze. His body was strong, stocky with muscles, vital. The gift he
gave was a rich one, beautifully dyed cloth.
"Though the lady needs no adornment," he added, smiling.

This was a pretty bit of speech. I wished I had something as clever to say. I was the only one here under twenty, and I was not descended from a god. 

Perhaps Yoshi Hamato's blue masked turtle son would be equal to this, I thought. But his father had kept him at home.