Chapter Five
Sayuri
The scent of tea leaves and incense lingered in the room, clinging to the walls like ghosts of past rituals. Beneath it was the faint polish of wood--refined and orderly. Everything here differed from the grease-thick heat of the kitchens, where the stench of oil stuck to her skin and hair like a second layer she could never fully wash away.
Sayuri sat stiff-backed on the mat before Madam Rika, the head stewardess of the soldiers' quarters. The woman had served longer than Sayuri had been alive. Her silver-threaded hair was pinned with care, her face softened by years rather than hardened. Authority rested in her posture--a power earned through time and diligence, not birthright.
"Change is always difficult, but you will find your place," Madam Rika said, pouring a cup of tea and setting it before her. "Lord Dorei has selected you as one of his personal attendants. It is quite the honor."
Sayuri kept her face blank, biting her tongue to keep from lashing out. There was no honor in being given a sentence. She would have much preferred to go back to the kitchens. To her freedom.
Sympathy passed over the woman's face, and her smile turned soft before she continued. "You will wake before him, see to his chambers, clothing, and meals when required. You will serve his tea and ensure his quarters remain in order during his absences." She paused, her eyes lifting to Sayuri's face. "And if he summons you, you will go."
Sayuri let out a breath, her cheeks burning under the older woman's gaze. Her meaning settled between them like a stone.
Some men took more than tea from the women in their chambers.
Soldiers, hardened by war and starved of comfort, were not monks. When they returned from battle, their blood still hot from the fight, it wasn't uncommon for them to seek release--however they could. And attendants, those kept closest, were often the easiest to take.
Her hands shook as she lifted the cup to her lips. The porcelain was warm against her fingers, but the tea suddenly felt cold on her tongue, and the bitterness remained long after she swallowed.
His words slipped into her thoughts,
"You're not as immune as you pretend to be, little moth."
The words brushed against her mind as surely as his lips had grazed her ear the previous night. She could still feel the heat of his breath, the whisper of it against her skin, the soft drag of his mouth along the curve of her jaw. Her pulse had leapt then--an instinctive response. Not fear. Not disgust.
Want.
The memory stirred it anew, a traitorous warmth blooming low in her stomach. She gripped the cup tighter, willing the tremor from her fingers, forcing the heat back down.
Had he moved her to his service for this? Was this what Dorei wanted from her?
Madam Rika studied her momentarily, then set her cup down with a quiet click. "Lord Dorei is not an unreasonable man," she said, her voice gentler now as though sensing her unease. "The women he summons to his chambers have always left satisfied. It is a role every girl here has been eager to accept."
Sayuri's fingers curled in her lap, hidden beneath the folds of her robes. She wasn't like every other girl--wasn't eager, wasn't willing to be called.
She wasn't.
And yet, the memory of his body pressing closer, of the heat that had pulsed through her in response, whispered otherwise.
Resentment flared beneath her ribs, biting and hot--toward him, toward herself. She inhaled slowly, smothering it down. She lowered her gaze, nodding once. "Yes, ma'am."
A warm smile touched the woman's lips. "Come. Let's get you settled."
The hallways of the soldiers' quarters were quieter than the palace's inner corridors, though no less grand. The scent of sandalwood and steel replaced the florals and incense that perfumed the rest of the palace--a sharper, cleaner edge that spoke of discipline, not decoration.
Sayuri followed Madam Rika past rows of identical, closed doors.
"This wing houses Lord Dorei's personal attendants and the soldiers under his immediate command. His private chambers are in the adjacent wing," the Madam explained as they walked. "Through here is the bathing house, and beyond that, the training yard." She gestured toward a passage branching off to a large set of doors. "The dining hall is this way. Meals are prepared in the adjoining kitchens, separate from the palace's main staff."
Sayuri barely heard the rest. Her chest tightened. She had foolishly hoped that she might still have access to the main kitchens. But if she was to eat here, work here, remain here...
Slipping away to meet Hiro would be that much harder. And by proxy, any hope of gathering information on the nobleman would wither.
They rounded another corner, and Madam Rika gestured toward a series of engraved doors. "These are the quarters for Lord Dorei's personal attendants. You will have one as well."
Sayuri's steps nearly faltered. A room to herself? Not a cramped sleeping mat tucked beside her sister. Not a shared cot in the servants' barracks. Her own space. A door she could close. She fought to keep her face still, but beneath her ribs, something unusual stirred--not quite joy, but close.
As they moved down the hall, Madam Rika paused at several doors, introducing Sayuri to the other attendants she found free from their duties. Sayuri dipped her head in greeting as names were offered--some girls younger, some older, their expressions ranging from polite indifference to mild curiosity. She tried to commit them to memory, though the faces blurred together, swallowed by the haze of unfamiliarity.
"And this is where you'll be sleeping." Madam Rika paused at a door near the end of the hall. She slid it open, revealing a modest chamber--small but far from sparse. A mattress was neatly tucked into an alcove along the far wall, a folded blanket resting at its center. A simple writing desk and stool sat beneath a narrow window, and a wooden chest waited at the foot of the mattress--empty now but ready for her belongings. If she'd had any to fill it.
Sayuri hesitated in the doorway. It was too much. Too good. Not lavish, but cared for. The kind of space meant for someone who mattered. Someone who belonged. Her fingers brushed against the frame as if testing it--half-expecting it to vanish beneath her touch.
She stepped inside.
Folded beside the chest lay her new uniform. Sayuri ran a hand over the fabric, surprised by the softness beneath her touch. It was finer than anything she'd worn before--not silks like the nobles, but well-made linen that wouldn't chafe against the skin. A pale blue kosode layered beneath a darker navy apron, its sash meant to tie neatly at her back. All of Dorei's attendants were dressed this way--clothed in his wealth, his favor.
A step up from the coarse, shapeless garb of the kitchen staff. And yet, it still seemed like a collar.
Her gaze drifted to the narrow window at the back of the room. Wooden slats filtered the sunlight, painting thin bands of gold across the floor. Something about the quiet here nagged at her.
The kitchens had been loud--smoke rising, servants shouting, bodies always moving. In the chaos, she could slip in and out unseen.
But here...
Here, the quiet was oppressive. The halls were still. The only sound would be her own footsteps echoing against the ground. If she left in the dead of night, someone would hear. Someone would see. Freedom had never felt so far away.
Madam Rika watched her carefully. "Is something the matter?"
Sayuri swallowed, forcing her voice steady. "Are we free to come and go from this wing as needed?"
The older woman's expression gave nothing away. Her gaze lingered a beat longer than was comfortable before she stepped past, smoothing a hand over the blanket on the mattress. "You'll have your duties. If you complete them, I see no reason you should be confined. But you are no longer a kitchen maid. You serve Lord Dorei personally, which means you are expected to be available at any time."
