Chapter Three
Sayuri
Steam curled in thick ribbons through the kitchen, the scent of roasted meats and fresh herbs heavy in the air. Copper pots clanged against the stone hearth while the shuffle of feet and murmur of voices formed a steady hum of activity. The heat was relentless, pressing against Sayuri's skin as she scrubbed the remnants of last night's feast from a wooden basin. The water had long since turned cloudy, her fingers wrinkled and raw from hours steeped in the scalding temperature.
Sayuri hadn't been marched off to war with the others. Whether by design or oversight, she'd been placed among the palace servants instead--a quiet dismissal, as though she was too insignificant for anything beyond scrubbing floors and peeling vegetables.
It had been months since she arrived in the inner court, yet she still felt like an outsider. The other servants had come from respectable families--daughters of craftsmen and officials, women who had earned their place through loyalty or lineage. She, on the other hand, had been brought here on the whim of a nobleman, her past a question left unanswered.
If the others had known what she'd done--who she was--they wouldn't have let her so much as touch the palace stores, let alone work in the kitchens. But no one asked. No one dared. It was enough that Lord Dorei had willed her here. That alone had branded her an object of curiosity, a persistent topic of gossip that followed the daily routines.
Sayuri rinsed the basin and set it aside just as a stack of bowls clattered beside her. Water splashed against her sleeve, soaking through the muted gray fabric of her uniform and flecking her cheek. The apron was already damp from hours of work, the coarse linen a far cry from the silks and brocades worn beyond the kitchen doors. Still, it was leagues above the ragged kosode she'd worn in prison, where warmth itself had been a luxury.
She exhaled, glancing up to find Mei standing over her, arms crossed, a smirk curving her lips.
"You missed a spot," Mei said, her tone dripping with false sweetness.
Mei was young--Makoto's age, perhaps--with the soft, rounded face of someone who had never gone hungry. Her plump form was draped in the same gray uniform as the rest, but she carried herself as though it were embroidered with gold. Her dark hair was plaited down her back, the front cropped blunt across her forehead--just like Makoto's had been. Sayuri hated it. But appearance aside, the girl was nothing like her sister.
Sayuri wiped her face on her shoulder and turned back to her work. "Then perhaps you should wash them yourself."
A few nearby attendants stifled their laughter, quickly returning to their tasks when Mei's glare snapped to them.
"I don't expect a stray to understand," Mei hissed. "But those of us who belong here have standards to maintain."
Sayuri clenched her jaw but refused to take the bait. It was always like this. From the moment she arrived, Mei had made it her mission to remind her she didn't belong.
"Enough," the head cook barked, her hands planted on her hips. "Mei, get back to work. Sayuri, you're to prepare a tea tray for Scholar Hidemasa. Take it to the reception hall."
Mei stepped back with an exaggerated sigh, her eyes glinting. Sayuri dried her hands on her apron, biting down the retort burning on her tongue. She turned to the long wooden counter, where porcelain cups and lacquered trays had already been set out. Wealth dripped from every surface--the gold-inlaid dishes, the polished silver teapots, the silk napkins folded into pretty shapes.
She reached for a tray, carefully arranging cups in a neat row before moving on to the refreshments. A plate of rice cakes, dusted with fine sugar and pressed into delicate flower designs, sat beside an assortment of sweet bean pastries, their glossy surfaces catching the light. Sayuri picked one up, the texture soft beneath her fingertips.
Her stomach twisted--not with hunger. Her finger brushed over the dough, and for a moment, she could almost feel her sister's hands kneading beside her in their tiny kitchen, flour streaking her wrists. Their meals had never been extravagant, but they'd made the best of what little they had. Simple broths, rice with pickled vegetables, sweet buns when luck allowed. She could still see Makoto sitting cross-legged on the floor, humming softly as she rolled out dumpling wrappers, the fire's warmth painting her cheeks in flickering gold.
Sayuri swallowed against the tightness in her throat and slipped two pastries into the folds of her sleeve, careful not to disturb the balance of the tray. They would not be missed--not when hundreds more were replenished daily by dozens of hands. She reached for the teapot, the floral scent of steeped jasmine unfurling into the air as she set it beside the cups. As she worked, voices drifted from the other end of the kitchen.
"Did you hear?" a young girl murmured, excitement threading through her lowered voice--just quiet enough to make the others lean in. "Lord Dorei has returned!"
Sayuri's fingers hesitated on the teapot's handle.
A woman with a spotted chin let out a breathy sigh. "Finally. You'd think he was off conquering an entire kingdom with how long he's been away."
Laughter rippled through the group.
"He probably was. They say no one wields a sword like him," the first girl said.
"I'd rather see him wield something else," one of the women with unruly curls giggled, drawing out playful shrieks and frantic shushes.
"Shame we never get to see him up close," another lamented. "I hear the women in court fight for his attention like starving dogs."
"With a face like that? Who wouldn't?"
Sayuri rolled her eyes and lifted the tray into her hands. She'd heard it all before. It was every servant girl's dream to catch a nobleman's attention, to snare a soldier's gaze before they were cast aside as old maids. Foolish fantasies, all of them.
While the other girls fawned over Lord Dorei, Sayuri's thoughts drifted elsewhere. The nobleman who held her interest had nothing to do with desire or status. Only unfinished business.
She wove through the kitchens, careful not to jostle the porcelain stacked atop the tray. Slipping past a group of servants huddled near the hearth, their laughter muffled beneath the crackling fire, she ducked under a low-hanging bundle of drying herbs strung from the rafters.
The moment she stepped beyond the kitchen's threshold, the world changed.
The halls stretched wide, their polished stone floors reflecting the soft glow of lanterns mounted along curved wooden beams. Distant music floated through the corridors--soft strings and lilting flutes--the sound of court life carrying on, untouched by the labor concealed behind closed doors.
Sayuri adjusted her grip on the tray and quickened her pace. She should have turned left toward the main corridor where the reception hall lay beyond the painted screens. Instead, she veered right.
The path was quieter here, away from the perfumed air and polished décor, winding toward the outer corridors--toward a world to which she no longer belonged. She stepped into the shaded alcove, where a secondary entrance led to the barracks.
Outside the door, a floppy-haired guard lounged against the wooden railing, one boot propped on the step, the other planted firmly on the ground--Hiro.
He had the sturdy build of a man who enjoyed his meals as much as his work, though tonight, his usual uniform was absent, replaced by loose trousers and a plain tunic that stretched too tightly at his stomach.
"Ah, my favorite kitchen thief," he said, his eyes twinkling. "What did you bring me this time? Don't tell me it's another one of those dry biscuits."
Sayuri frowned. "I caught you off duty?"
Hiro stretched his arms above his head, yawning heavily. "Not on shift for another few hours."
She arched a brow, noting how he nervously glanced down the hall. He lingered near the entrance rather than heading toward the barracks where the off-duty guards spent their free time. "Then what are you doing out here?"
He scratched his jaw, his grin easy--but a fraction too quick. "Enjoying the air. Do I need a reason?"
Sayuri studied him a moment longer, then shrugged. Everyone had their secrets. Who was she to pry?
She balanced the tray on the railing and slipped the pastries from her sleeve. "I believe these are your favorite."
Hiro plucked one from her hand, sniffing it dramatically before popping it into his mouth. "Mmm," he hummed, chewing with exaggerated appreciation.
She leaned against the wall, watching him eat. "Any news?"
Hiro wiped a few stray crumbs from his chin. "And here I thought you came to enjoy my company."
She waited, and he let out a sigh.
"I asked around, but there's not much to go on," he admitted. "The bastard's got friends in high places. Doesn't come around here often, and when he does, he keeps his business quiet. I'll keep my ears open, but..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Might be better to forget the guy."
Sayuri sniffed, lifting the tea tray. "Just keep looking. Persistence is what keeps people alive."
"Or gets them killed," Hiro said lightly, though concern was laced beneath the friendliness.
She turned before he could press further. "I need to get this to the reception hall. Enjoy your...air."
Hiro leaned against the railing. "What about our next game?" he called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder. "If you win one, maybe I'll consider another."
He chuckled, his laughter trailing after her as she slipped away down the corridor.
Hiro was the only one who had treated her with kindness since she arrived. The kitchen staff whispered. The maids watched her with cautious eyes. Even the guards regarded her with vague suspicion as though waiting to uncover whatever secret had earned her a place among them.
But Hiro was different. He treated her the same as he did everyone else--with an easy grin and a teasing remark.
Over time, he'd become the only one she trusted. He never asked for anything beyond the stolen sweets she smuggled to him--and only then because she'd offered first. She needed some way to repay him.
Sayuri hadn't meant to form any sort of companionship. The first night had been an accident. She couldn't sleep, her mind restless with thoughts she couldn't shake, so she'd wandered. That was when she saw him--hunched over a wooden board across from another guard, the black and white Go pieces gleaming beneath the lantern's glow. She'd lingered in the shadows, watching the game unfold in silence.
