sara has been poisoned.
you know this because she has been sick longer than any fever lasts for, but more so because you’ve spent nearly the entire past decade of your life studying poisons in sumeru. the anatomy of a poisoning is an old friend of yours; the poison, the poisoned organism, the injury to the cells, and the symptoms and signs—which is usually succeeded by death, although you are not so unskilled to undo the effects of a simple almond-based poison. no, the poison itself is not your concern, hastily and poorly concocted as it is.
no, your concern is the bastard who would dare do such a thing to your wife.
sara shivers as you pat a damp cloth to her forehead. her face is flushed with fever, sweat beading on her neck. her fingers grip and relax the bedding of her futon, eyes squeezed shut as the poison rips through her. you’ve already administered the antidote, but the aftereffects are still something sara must weather alone. it makes your heart ache. you are used to seeing your wife as a pillar of strength, so to see her reduced to quivering frailness brings out a grief in your heart you only experienced once, as your mother lay dying. you lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, squeezing her hand. sara groans, but some of the tension in her expression melts at the gesture.
just then, the door slides open with a soft sound. by the cadence of the footsteps—even, controlled, but with the weight of the house’s master—you know it is your brother, ayato. you do not look at him when you speak, your voice deceptively soft.
“have you discovered the culprit, brother?”
ayato hums behind you. “i have. one kujou kurose, a minor officer from one of the kujou branch families.”
“a fellow member of the kujou?”
“yes. though, he has made his disapproval of takayuki’s adoption of sara clear from the beginning. now that takayuki is out of the picture, i suspect he felt bold enough to make his move and get rid of her as well.”
you snort derisively as you brush some damp hair out of sara’s face. “he would commit treason out of jealousy?”
“the human heart is fickle,” ayato says evenly. “so, what is it you plan to do, sister?”
you tuck the sheets a little tighter around sara, then rise to your feet. you turn, and offer ayato a carefully measured smile—the smile your father taught both you and ayato to wear; the one that brings with it unrest. ayato recognises it innately, and a spark of amusement lights up his usually placid eyes.
“why, invite them to tea, of course.”
-
kujou kurose is a poor actor.
you learn this as you sit across from him at tea, listening to him ramble and rave about just how terrible it is for general kujou to have fallen ill. your hands squeeze your teacup tight enough that the glass might have cracked in your grip. instead, you grit your teeth and patiently endure his incessant blabbering, before insisting he have some tea.
“sakura blend,” you elaborate. “the petals came from the sacred sakura. it is intended to promote good health.”
kujou kurose idly strokes his beard and chuckles. “is that so? then let us drink to general kujou’s continued good health. please, pour some for me.”
you smile—polite as ever—and lean forward to lift the teapot. the collar of your kimono shifts with the action, and you can feel kurose’s eyes linger on the brief flash of your exposed collarbones. a stab of annoyance flickers through you, but you tamp it down. you pour his tea, then return to your seated position. kurose, to his credit, is not so barbaric to forget the etiquette of tea. he sips his tea from his cup slowly, expression smoothing out as the warm, sweet liquid tips down his throat. your smile does not leave your face. when he sets his cup back down, his expression is utterly calm, relaxed.
fool.
your own tea is untouched. you watch him carefully as you speak. “is the tea to your liking, my lord?”
kurose gives you a look. opens his mouth and tries to speak.
he fails.
you cannot stop the sheer delight on your face as you watch the man realise he cannot move at all. his eyes, once arrogant and deceptive, are now filled solely with fear. rage flickers across his expression briefly, but the fear resurges without mercy as he experiences what it is like to have no control over your body. as he remains stone-still in paralyzed fear, you raise your own cup to your lips and take a sip. the tea is warm and sweet—but to your seasoned palette of poisons, the subtle bitter hints of paralytic are obvious.
not that it bothers you. you’ve been ingesting your own poisons (in controlled doses, of course) since your first year at the akademiya to get a leg up on your coursemates in describing and documenting the effects of assorted poisons. suffice to say, you’ve developed a reasonable amount of tolerance to poisons, especially the ones you crafted yourself.
others, like kurose? not so much.
when you set your teacup down, there is nothing in his expression but despair. that dark, vindictive part of you howls with glee at the sight, and you give him your first true smile of the afternoon. when you speak, your voice is low, like a serpent slithering through tall grass.
“did you think i would not know, kurose?” you use his first name casually, as befitting your status both as a kamisato, and the general’s wife. “the walls have ears, kurose, and you have been so very loud.”
his throat bobs. you had given him just enough of a dosage to paralyze most of his muscles, but not enough to freeze the ones in his lungs or heart. at least, not yet.
“i know you poisoned my wife,” you continue, your tone hardly betraying anything. the conversation flows as if you were merely speaking of ther weather. “and i know it is because you are too much of a bitch to face her in honorable combat.”
if kurose could move, he would have flinched. but he can’t, so the best he can manage is a frenzied look of pure panic in his eyes.
“so you resorted to these… pathetic, underhanded methods you know sara would never dream of partaking in. and you thought, like this, you might win. and even if she didn’t die, you could not be implicated because of a lack of evidence, and that sara’s own respect for the law would let you walk free. but i’m afraid your cowardice is only matched by your stupidity,” you spit, unable to contain your vitriol any longer. “because if you think i subscribe to such restrictions, you are sorely mistaken.”
you have been away from inazuma for years, studying in the land of wisdom. and many have forgotten just who you are, but you are a kamisato. they call your sister a heron, sweet and beautiful. they call your brother a fox, cunning and charming. but you? you are nothing so warm-blooded. you are a snake in the grass, coiled in on yourself, fangs filled with venom. and archons help whoever is foolish enough to tread too close to your nest.
“make an attempt on my wife’s life again, kurose, and i will watch the light leave your eyes myself.”
and with that, you stand, forgoing a bow, and leave the trembling man in your living room with a swish of your silk kimono.
-
sara blinks as she looks down at one of her documents. she’s since recovered from her illness, and has resumed her duties as general. currently, she’s going over her backlog of paperwork that accumulated while she was unwell. and one of them is particularly odd—kujou kurose’s resignation letter.
“strange,” she mutters, and you look up from your embroidery to glance at her. you tilt your head in question.
“what is, dearest?”
“uncle kurose resigned,” she says, scanning over the document again. “he said he feels ‘too old’ to keep attending to his role within the clan. he’ll be… taking an extended trip to liyue to recuperate, apparently.”
you only hum at that. “mm, it is not too surprising. he is quite old, no?”
“well…” sara sighs. “he is old, yes, but he is also… tenacious. i didn’t think he’d resign unless he died. so it’s just weird, i suppose.”
you set your embroidery down with a smile, rising to your feet to pad softly over to her side. your brush her bangs away from her forehead and press a soft kiss to her temple. sara makes a tiny, surprised noise, a delicate flush settling on her cheeks as your hand rises to cup her jaw.
“you’re so caring, my dear,” you chuckle. “i’m sure he’s quite fine. it isn’t like he was threatened or anything—he’s still a kujou, after all. who would dare?”
sara sighs again, and leans into your touch. “you’re right.”
“i always am,” you quip, and sara rolls her eyes affectionately. she turns her head and presses a quick kiss to your palm.
“i love you,” she whispers, and your eyes soften. you lower your head to catch her lips in a soft kiss. she tastes like peppermint tea and sugar, the blend you made specifically for her. you breathe your reply against her lips.
“i love you too, my dear.”
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