Grass for His Pillow by Lian Hearn Page A

said. “I am still in mourning.” She took a breath, so deep that she was sure he must hear it. “I believe I am carrying a child.”
    His eyes turned again to her, peering through the gloom. “Shigeru gave you a child?”
    She bowed in confirmation, not daring to speak.
    â€œWell, well,” he said, suddenly inappropriately jovial. “We must celebrate! A man may have died but his seed lives. A remarkable achievement!” They had been talking in lowered voices, but now he shouted surprisingly loudly. “Ayame!”
    Kaede jumped despite herself. She saw how his mind was loosened, swinging between lucidity and darkness. It frightened her, but she tried to put the fear aside. As long as he believed her for the time being, she would face whatever came afterward.
    The woman Ayame came in and knelt before Kaede. “Lady, welcome home. Forgive us for such a sad homecoming.”
    Kaede stood, took her hands, and raised her to her feet. They embraced. The solid indomitable figure that Kaede remembered had dwindled to a woman who was almost old. Yet, she thought she recalled her scent: It aroused sudden memories of childhood.
    â€œGo and bring wine,” Kaede’s father commanded. “I want to drink to my grandchild.”
    Kaede felt a shiver of dread, as though by giving the child a false identity she had made its life false. “It is still so early,” she said in a low voice. “Do not celebrate yet.”
    â€œKaede!” Ayame exclaimed, using her name as she would to a child. “Don’t say such things; don’t tempt fate.”
    â€œFetch wine,” her father said loudly. “And close the shutters. Why do we sit here in the cold?”
    As Ayame went toward the veranda they heard the sound of footsteps, and Kondo’s voice called, “Lady Otori!”
    Shizuka went to the doorway and spoke to him.
    â€œTell him to come up,” Kaede said.
    Kondo stepped onto the wooden floor and knelt in the entrance. Kaede was conscious of the swift glance he gave round the room, taking in in a moment the layout of the house, assessing the people in it. He spoke to her, not to her father.
    â€œI’ve been able to get some food from the village. I’ve chosen the men you requested. A young man turned up, Amano Tenzo; he’s taken charge of the horses. I’ll see that the men get something to eat now, and set guards for the night.”
    â€œThank you. We’ll speak in the morning.”
    Kondo bowed again and left silently.
    â€œWho’s that fellow?” her father demanded. “Why did he not speak to me to ask my opinion or permission?”
    â€œHe works for me,” Kaede replied.
    â€œIf he’s one of Arai’s men, I’ll not have him in this house.”
    â€œI said, he works for me.” Her patience was wearing thin. “We are in alliance with Lord Arai now. He controls most of the Three Countries. He is our overlord. You must accept this, Father. Iida is dead and everything has changed.”
    â€œDoes that mean daughters may speak to their fathers so?”
    â€œAyame,” Kaede said, “take my father to his room. He will eat there tonight.”
    Her father began to remonstrate. She raised her voice against him for the first time in her life. “Father, I am tired. We will talk tomorrow.”
    Ayame gave her a look that she chose to ignore. “Do as I say,” she said coldly, and after a moment the older woman obeyed and led her father away.
    â€œYou must eat, lady,” Shizuka said. “Sit down; I’ll bring you something.”
    â€œMake sure everyone is fed,” Kaede said. “And close the shutters now.”
    Later she lay listening to the rain. Her household and her men were sheltered, fed after a fashion, safe, if Kondo could be trusted. She let the events of the day run through her mind, the problems she would have to deal with: her father, Hana, the