Chapter 17: Cherry Blossom Rice

The last jar of salted cherry blossoms had been sitting at the back of the pantry since autumn.

Tomoe rinsed the petals in cold water until they bloomed pink in the bowl.

She folded them into the steaming rice, and the whole kitchen smelled of spring.

Shiori sat at the table with her chin on her fist and watched.

"You are not leaving until tomorrow," Tomoe said, without turning around.

"I know."

"Then you can stop looking at me like I'm the last bowl on earth."

"I am memorizing you."

"You've got all night for that."

She set the rice down between them with a pair of pickled plums.

They ate slowly, with the lantern turned low, and neither of them said much.

Once, Shiori reached across the table and took a grain of rice off Tomoe's lip with her thumb.

She put it in her own mouth.

"Salt," she said.

"Cherry blossom."

"Salt and you."

Tomoe put down her chopsticks.

"Come to bed," she said.

Shiori came.

There was no hurry in it tonight, and no fear either.

In the bedroom Shiori lit a single candle and set it on the floor.

The room turned brown and gold, and the shadows moved slowly on the wall.

She knelt in front of Tomoe and undid the braid first.

She did it a lock at a time, combing out each section with her fingers.

Soon the thick chestnut hair lay loose to Tomoe's waist.

Then she lifted a handful and put her face in it.

"You braid it every night," she said, muffled.

"Since I was twelve."

"Not tonight. Never again without me watching."

"Is that an order?"

"It is a request."

Tomoe laughed, and the laugh turned into something softer when Shiori's mouth found the side of her neck.

There was no oath hanging in the hall tonight.

It was still on the wall, but it had been read.

Shiori knew it, and Tomoe could feel her knowing it, in every unhurried movement of her hands.

Shiori undressed Tomoe.

The apron came off, then the robe, then each small layer under it, folded and laid aside instead of thrown.

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