"Zoisite, quit your wailing! I just spent half an hour doing your make-up, and now it's all over!"
"Hush, Mako-chan," said Ami, trying to coax Zoisite's hands away from her styled hair. "Let her cry."
"But now her face looks awful!"
"Then we'll scrub it clean and leave it. Mamoru doesn't need her to look like a geisha." Ami tugged at Zoisite's hands. "Please, Zoe. Leave your hair alone."
"But I hate him!" shrieked Zoisite, yanking the lacquered combs out and clawing her carefully twisted rolls into red snarls. "He can burn in Hell!" Zoisite glanced around wildly for anything else she could smash or rip, but her sparsely furnished room had suffered her fury all afternoon, and by now there was not much left to destroy. Even the portrait of Ami she had just finished lay in shreds.
"He's going to pay!" Then Zoisite shuddered and collapsed into helpless sobs.
"Has she been like this all afternoon?" said Ami.
Makoto nodded. "Ever since the bath. She screams, then cries, then wrecks something, then cries again."
"You should have sent for me earlier."
"Nah, you need your sleep. I figured you'll be plenty busy tonight. Once those thorns stop hurting, she'll be climbing the walls. The thorns are the only thing keeping her under control."
Zoisite grabbed her light, summer kimono in both fists and ripped it from hem to waist, spitting on the mat.
"Hey!" said Ami. "Stop that!"
With unexpected strength, Zoisite lashed out at her with a blow that sent Ami tumbling backwards. Immediately, she cried, "Ami! *Gomen!* I didn't mean it!" Ignoring her pain, she scrambled across the mat and threw her arms around Ami's waist. All day long, Zoisite hadn't been able to untangle her rage, grief and fear. She felt like a boiling kettle of hurt, and her hand kept reaching up to touch a burning spot on her forehead, where hatred seemed to be concentrating.
Ami was holding her, stroking her back. Her fingers were gentle, but her voice grew firm. "You must stop this display, Zoisite! Surely, Kunzite taught you to have more self control than this! You made your choice when you took the oath, now accept it!"
Zoisite touched her brow again, sniffling and trying to swallow back her tears. "Is . . . is there something on my face?"
"Just a lot of smeared make-up. Here--" Ami took a wet cloth from Makoto and scrubbed Zoisite's face.
"Nothing else?" said Zoisite.
"You look fine."
A small drum in the corridor announced the arrival of Usagi. Zoisite looked up, at once relieved and fearful. The hem of Usagi's white, silk sleeping gown swirled around her bare feet as she stepped into the room. Her golden hair flowed freely down her back.
"Ready?" she said.
"Uh, not quite," said Makoto.
Zoisite covered her ratted hair with her hands and grimaced at her ripped gown. Now she could add shame to her emotional stew.
Usagi laughed, but it was a light, kind laugh, not mocking or hurtful. "You look almost as bad as this room! But that's okay. I'll give you one of my gowns, and we can work out those tangles on the way over." Then she bent down and smoothed her hands over Zoisite's trembling body.
Zoisite instantly felt better as the thorns melted under Usagi's touch.
"I'll be with you," said Usagi. "You know that, don't you?"
"Ar-arigato."
"It'll be all right." Usagi smiled. "And we'll travel in style!"
The door panel opened wide, and eight attendants carried in a litter on long, bamboo poles. It was amply cushioned, with curtains of red, blue and gold silk hanging from gold rings on a jeweled canopy.
"Hop in," said Usagi. "The easiest way to Mamo-kun is across the courtyard, through the gardens." Then with a wave of her hand, two of the outer wall panels parted, opening Zoisite's room to the outside. A summer evening breeze carried the flowery scent of Crystal Yedo's ever-blooming gardens, rustling Zoisite's torn gown.
"I didn't know we could do that," said Zoisite, gaping at the sculpted landscape.
"You can't. But as Empress, I can open any wall in my palace!" Usagi let an attendant help her into the litter. "C'mon! And bring a hairbrush, so I can work on those knots!"
Zoisite hesitantly climbed in, then screamed when she saw a little animal poke its nose over the cushion.
Usagi pulled the rabbit into her lap. It had royal-blue fur. "This is Bunny, my new pet. She won't bite."
"Keep it back!" Zoisite cowered, being generally terrified of rodents.
"Oh, that's right. You don't like anything related to mice. Sorry." Usagi tucked the rabbit into the corner. "She likes to be near me. Luna's probably around too, spying on us. Well, are you ready?"
Zoisite curled into a cushion next to Usagi and drew her knees to her chest. "I want Ami with us," she said.
Ami stepped back, shaking her head. "I would rather not. This is between Zoisite and Mamoru, and--"
"I want her there!" cried Zoisite. "I won't go without her!"
"Let up, Zoe," said Makoto. "I don't think Ami really wants to watch this."
Panic flooded Zoisite's other emotions. Ami was her anchor, her ally. "I want her there! I want her there! I want her--"
"All right!" said Ami. "I think you and Mamoru should have more privacy, but if you really need me, I'll go! That is, if it's all right with Usagi."
"Sure, but you'll have to walk. This cab only holds two."
"Mamo's gonna love having an audience," said Makoto, yawning. "But if Zoe can handle it, I'd rather stay behind and get some sleep."
The attendants took up the bamboo poles, and the litter carried Zoisite and Usagi out of the room and across the courtyard gardens.
"It's just like a festival procession!" said Usagi. Zoisite nestled in front of her, so she could untangle her hair. With the curtains drawn aside, they looked out at the winding, moonlit paths. The pale, blue light sparkled on the surface of lily pools and cast shadows beneath clusters of junipers and fruit trees. A breath of cherry blossom petals swept through the night air, tickling Zoisite's face.
"You should come out to the gardens every night," said Usagi between brush strokes. You can sit on the rocks and let butterflies perch on your fingers. And if it rains, you find a pavilion, stoke up the hibachi, and make a kettle of tea. It's a little paradise here."
"Who goes there?" called a voice from up the path. Then Minako of Venus appeared in uniform, staff in hand, apparently on watch, if such a thing was even necessary here. "Hail, Empress Usagi! Hail, Princess Zoisite!" Her bow was more playful than reverent.
Usagi waved back.
"Is that Ami?" said Minako. "Hi, Merc! Are we having a midsummer parade? May I come along?"
"Certainly not!" said Ami, walking ahead of the procession. "I shouldn't be here myself."
Minako laughed. "The more, the merrier! Hey, Zoe! Belt Cape Boy a good one for me!"
"Minako!" cried everyone present.
"Indeed!" said Ami. "No one thinks this is funny!"
"Sorry!" With a laugh that was anything but apologetic, Minako disappeared back into the shadows of her "night beat."
Not much later, Zoisite found herself in a quiet, master bedchamber of elegant simplicity. Immaculate white mats and white walls flowed into a verandah, where the rice paper screens slid open, joining room, garden and moonlight. Wearing a fresh gown, she sank into a deep, silken featherbed and gazed up at the ceiling timbers.
"You okay?" said Usagi, kneeling behind her head and stroking her hair.
"I don't know." Zoisite was shivering, despite the warm, summer night air. The little spot above her eyes burned, and she kept reaching up to touch it.
"Does your head hurt? You don't look well."
"I feel . . . strange. What's on my forehead?"
Usagi pressed her hand over Zoisite's brow. "You're not feverish." She frowned. "But I do feel something . . . like a concentration of dark energy. It's probably stress, Zoe. Just try to relax."
Mamoru entered from the verandah, dressed in a summer-weight, blue kimono printed with yellow bamboo leaves. Ami squeezed Zoisite's hand. Zoisite stiffened. Mamoru narrowed his eyes at Ami, apparently not pleased with the presence of an extra person.
He said, "What are you doing here, Ami? Does it take two people to hold down Zoisite?"
"It's gonna take more than that!" snarled Zoisite, bolting up from the large futon, fist ready.
"Hey!" Usagi grabbed Zoisite and held her back. "No fighting!"
"Who's fighting?" said Mamoru. "All I ask is a little privacy!"
Ami tried to pull away from Zoisite's grasp. "I should go--"
"No!" cried Zoisite, burying her face into the crook of Ami's arm. "Please don't leave me!"
"Try to control yourself," said Ami.
Zoisite started to cry. Controlling herself was not something she'd been able to do all day. And Mamoru's abruptness wasn't helping.
Mamoru sighed, rubbed at a spot in the middle of his brow and sat down on the opposite end of the futon. "Fine! Ami can stay. Invite the whole, damn scout troop for all I care! Just please, *please* make Zoisite stop crying!"
"I think you're the only one who can do that," said Usagi, trying to smooth the shivers out of Zoisite's back.
Ami said, "If it would help, perhaps I could sit in a corner, where my presence will be less intrusive."
"No!" Zoisite squeezed her tighter. "Stay here!"
Mamoru wearily dropped his face into his hands. "Look. I can't do this when she obviously doesn't want it."
Zoisite almost said, *That hasn't stopped you before,* but she held her tongue.
It took a long time and much coaxing, but Usagi finally pried Zoisite away from Ami. "Rest quietly on your back for a while," she said. "Focus on your breathing." Then she told Mamoru to lie down beside Zoisite, but he shook his head and drew in his shoulders.
Mamoru huddled at the edge of the futon, one hand over his face, blushing furiously and looking almost sick. His knees were closed tight, and he held his arms protectively over the front of his kimono. Part of Zoisite felt a little sorry for him, but her pang of sympathy was overpowered by a smug satisfaction at his obvious discomfort.
"Mamoru," said Usagi gently. "Just relax; we've got all night."
But Mamoru shook his head again. "I . . . I don't think I can do this right now."
"What?" snapped Zoisite. "Why the Hell not?"
"I just *can't!* Okay? It's not going to work! Do I need to spell it out for you?"
"You don't have to holler," said Usagi.
Zoisite sat up, no longer feeling as nervous as she had just a minute before. In fact, she was starting to relish this. "What's the matter, Cape Boy? Can't perform under pressure?"
"Zoisite, be nice!" said Usagi.
Ami just sighed and turned her back.
Mamoru looked miserable, hunched over and staring at the floor, his face as red as one of his roses. Zoisite felt evil joy. Then an idea spread a smile over her lips. "Mamo-kun," she said, sliding toward him over the featherbed like a playful cat. "We just have to join, right? It doesn't matter how?"
"Uh . . . what do you mean?" Mamoru raised his eyebrows.
Zoisite twisted a lock of hair around her fingers and moved close enough to breath down the back of Mamoru's neck. "I mean, I'm not called Zoi-kun for no reason, despite my other features and all the new curves on my body."
"What?"
"Mine isn't very big, but at least it works. If you can't get it up, maybe I can."
Mamoru jumped away. "You're crazy!"
"You ever tried being on the receiving end?" said Zoisite, laughing as she drew one finger down the opening of her kimono. "You might like it."
"No way! No friggin' way!" Mamoru stepped back from the bed and glanced around the room as if looking for something articulate to say. Zoisite could see beads of sweat on his bright, red face. "That's it!" cried Mamoru. "I'm outta here!" Then he stomped back across the verandah and disappeared into the gardens.
Usagi sighed. "Zoisite, you're impossible! What are we gonna do with you?"
Zoisite's gleeful laughter died quickly when she saw that Ami was no longer there. "Where is she?"
"She got disgusted and left. You'd better call the attendants to carry you back to your room. Honestly, Zoisite!" Usagi rose to follow after Mamoru, shaking her head and trying to cover the reluctant smirk on her face. "Minako would've French-kissed a youma to have witnessed this."
Back in her own room, Zoisite's merriment was hardly even a memory in the desolation that now replaced it. Makoto had gone to her own bedchamber, Ami was staying out in the corridor, not talking to her, and Zoisite's body couldn't decide if it was too hot or too cold. She had just thrown the covers off to the side, letting the moonlight from the clerestories cast blue stripes across her naked legs. But now Zoisite was shivering. And on top of that, the pain from Mamoru's thorns was slowly returning in Usagi's absence, spreading from her middle outwards. This night promised to be a long one.
Just as she reached again for her comforter, she heard whispering outside her door. Then the panel slid open and Mamoru stepped in. Zoisite gasped, but Usagi appeared right behind him, with her finger over her lips. She was carrying a little, jade decanter with a lid, about the size of a rice cup. Mamoru had a dish of rice balls with seaweed and a tea kettle, and Zoisite suddenly realized she hadn't eaten all day. She eased herself up, watching them enter.
Usagi approached first, setting her decanter on the mat. She knelt behind the pillow and placed her hands on Zoisite's back to melt the pain. Then Mamoru knelt before Zoisite, holding out the food. "We thought you might be hungry," he said. "It's been a long day for all of us."
Zoisite regarded the offering, afraid to take it, but Mamoru nudged it forward.
"Are you trying to be nice to me now?" said Zoisite.
"I still have to help you. I must admit I was pretty shocked and embarrassed. What you suggested tonight was not something I ever would've considered. But I've thought about it, and if you're not comfortable doing this any other way, then . . . then let's do it as you suggested."
"Huh?" Zoisite blinked. Had she heard right?
"Now, please eat something. You'll need your strength." Mamoru rose from the floor to sit close beside her on the futon. His heavy, black hair and dark eyes looked almost violet in the moonlight, which played on his lashes and cheekbones. He gently took Zoisite's hand and placed a rice ball into it. Zoisite suddenly felt flooded with all kinds of emotions she could neither untangle nor face. Her cheeks burned.
"You are hungry, aren't you?" said Mamoru.
Zoisite stared into her hand, unable to move. Finally, Mamoru curled his fingers around hers, and lifted the food to her lips. "Eat," he said. Zoisite didn't know if it was the obedience oath that compelled her to open her mouth and let Mamoru feed her. But once she finished the rice ball, hunger took over, and she devoured the next one, also from Mamoru's fingers. Then another, and another. She closed her eyes as he brought a steaming cup of sumac tea to her lips, his other hand on her back.
She opened them again after the last swallow. Mamoru's hand was still on her, and his eyes were as serious as they were gentle. She wondered, did he have a heart, after all? She couldn't recall ever having seen him like this . . . except perhaps in some long forgotten dream. Very long forgotten. "Well?" he said.
"What's in Usagi's decanter?" said Zoisite.
"Oil."
Zoisite gulped. Her gaze dropped to her lap.
"You want to be the man?" said Mamoru. "It's all right, if that's what you want."
Zoisite was acutely aware of his hand. She could sense each fingertip slipping lower down her back, but stopping before it became improper. She felt the warmth of his thigh against hers, and she started to ache inside--not with the pain of thorns, but with the hunger Kunzite gave her during intimacy. Zoisite hated to admit it, but she was growing warm between her legs. And for her, made as she was, things could get obvious very quickly.
She drew her knees together and covered herself with her hands. Fortunately, there was not much to cover, even when excited. "No," she whispered, unable to look up from her lap. "I don't want to be the man. Not when I'm with another man."
"Then, shall I?"
Zoisite nodded. All her conflicting feelings were bubbling to the surface. Just when she felt ready to burst, Mamoru pulled her into his arms. His embrace was as tight and secure as when he had first swept her up to Crystal Yedo. But these were the same arms that had fought her and hurt her so many times on Earth. Three years ago, during the Second Awakening, these arms had once pinned Zoisite down to a rough slab of concrete in a Tokyo alley, and . . .
But there had been no witnesses, and in her shame she had never told anyone, especially not Kunzite.
"No!" said Zoisite, squirming away. "I can't!"
"Easy now," said Usagi, catching her from behind. "He's not going to hurt you." Usagi held Zoisite's arms back, letting Mamoru study her face. He looked concerned, and Zoisite wondered how much he remembered. Frowning, he slowly drew his fingertip along the little scar over Zoisite's left cheek--a scar he had made three years ago with one of his roses. Then he bent down and kissed it. Zoisite trembled, burning with the pain of old wounds, yet deeply wanting him.
Soon Zoisite was on her back. Mamoru stretched out beside her, curling his arm behind Zoisite's head and resting one long, slim leg over her right knee. But when he touched her, just above her navel, she shivered. "I'm cold!" she said, as tears welled up again. He drew the comforter over her and snuggled closer. The heat from his body relaxed her a little. "Please don't cry," whispered Mamoru into her ear. Usagi, who was still kneeling behind her, stroked her hair.
Zoisite lay still, caught between resentment and desire, as Mamoru opened the front of her kimono and caressed her small breasts. Her contours were still so new, so sensitive. She wondered if they were enough for him. Mamoru was nuzzling her cheek, eyes closed. She felt his lips on her earlobe, her forehead, then back on her scar, as if he were trying to heal it with warm breath. Then he finally kissed her on the mouth, tentatively at first, then harder.
His fingertips traced the line of her jaw, then slipped down to her throat and collarbone, continuing over her shoulder, arm, elbow. Keeping his mouth on hers, he took the swells on her chest again, then followed the boyish curve of her hips and legs. She couldn't stop herself from touching him back, and soon their arms were wrapped around each other, stroking, seeking each other out.
Then Mamoru's fingers slipped lower, and his hand grasped firmly around something Zoisite never thought he would dare touch. She screamed.
"Did I hurt you?" said Mamoru, letting go.
"No, no! That feels good. I just didn't expect it."
Mamoru smiled and held it again, as Zoisite reached over to return the favor.
"Ready?" said Usagi, offering the decanter. Zoisite yelped at another unexpected touch from Mamoru. "I don't think we'll need that," he said, drawing his finger away. "She's got plenty of her own."
The young emperor wasn't as heavy as Kunzite, who never lay on Zoisite with his full weight unless she asked for it. He wasn't as big, either, but Kunzite sometimes hurt. Twice, Mamoru had to tell Zoisite to relax, and there was some weak protesting he had to calm, but their union was surprisingly smooth. Zoisite was amazed how good it felt. Despite her need, she had feared she wouldn't be able to open up, considering her conflicting feelings. But after a few minutes, she even began to moan a little.
The strangest part of it all was the thorns. Zoisite could feel the tip of each thorn ignite and flicker, but they didn't vanish, as she had expected. Instead, they transmuted into a simple, lingering presence that seemed to tickle more than hurt, like soft rose petals.
The tension slowly rising in Zoisite's muscles sparked a twinge of fear and reluctance to let Mamoru carry her too far. Usagi, who was still holding her, must've sensed it, because she leaned over and whispered, "Let it happen, Zoë." Zoisite brought her knuckle to her mouth and bit hard. This wasn't a victory she wanted to concede to Mamoru. But while she struggled against it, she also started to push with him, and soon her arms were strapped around his back and she was saying things she knew she would resent later. It was clear to her Mamoru didn't love her, didn't even like her. And this made her feel painfully helpless, knowing that her ecstasy meant nothing more to him than a confirmation of his power.
Minutes later, they lay gasping and wet. Usagi rose and said, "I'll leave you two alone." She padded noiselessly out of the room.
Zoisite gave a little cry as Mamoru pulled away and rolled onto his back beside her. "I can't believe you actually grabbed me there," she said, trying to smile.
"You were having trouble, and I knew it was the only way to push you over the top." He lay still, arms crossed over his bare chest, staring at the ceiling. Zoisite squirmed under the coverlet. Her throat felt swollen, in advance of tears.
"The thorns don't hurt anymore," she said, wondering if Mamoru could hear the crack in her voice.
"They shouldn't." Mamoru rubbed a spot on his forehead.
"That wasn't so bad."
"Not bad enough to justify the three months of foolishness we've gone through."
Suddenly, the few inches between them felt like an ice field. Zoisite tried to nuzzle Mamoru's side, but he only responded by rubbing his forehead. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Really, it was better than I thought it would be. You were . . . gentle." Zoisite sighed. She knew when tears couldn't be held back, and these would flow as soon as she opened her mouth again, but she had to say it. "Mamoru--"
"Hmm?"
"Mamoru--" Zoisite started to tremble.
"What?" said Mamoru, not even trying to hide his impatience.
"Would you . . . I want to be held now."
Something was definitely distracting Mamoru as he propped himself up on his side. He looked as though he had a headache, and an odd darkness fell like a winter shadow over his expression. "Gods, you're demanding!" he said. "Don't you realize I haven't slept in two days? I'm tired! Besides, I've got a wife to cuddle, and she's been more than generous tonight! You got what you needed, didn't you?"
Zoisite started to cry.
Exasperated, Mamoru sat up. "I'm glad it's over, because I can't take anymore!" He climbed off the futon, tied his kimono and returned to his own bedchamber, leaving Zoisite to cry alone.
That the thorns didn't hurt was a cold comfort as Zoisite tossed and turned. Finally, she got up and left the room to find Ami keeping watch in the corridor. She tumbled into Ami's arms, sobbing wretchedly.
"Zoisite, please! I can't be everything for you! I saw how you behaved toward Mamoru back in Usagi's chamber, and you were positively obnoxious!"
"I don't care!"
"That's the problem," sighed Ami, removing Zoisite's clutching fingers from the front of her gown.
Zoisite looked up, distressed at Ami's stern tone. "Are you going to push me away? Don't tell me you've got the mark of Jigoku too!"
"What? Don't be ridiculous! No one in Crystal Yedo bears the ghost sign, except maybe you, Zoisite."
"But Mamoru's got it! I saw it on his forehead today, in the bath!"
"You're being hysterical," said Ami.
"I hate him!"
"We all know that."
"I mean, I hate him more!"
"Was that even possible?"
"I do!" cried Zoisite. "And now that I can move around without hurting, I'm going to make him pay!"
"Pay for what?"
"For . . . for . . . " Zoisite clenched her fists.
"C'mon," said Ami, hauling Zoisite to her feet and herding her back into the room. "Let's go to bed. I'll cuddle you. Tomorrow's a new day, and we're not going to shred anything or bite anyone, are we?"
Zoisite sniffed. "No."
"Good girl."
They climbed into bed, Zoisite pulling Ami's arm around her. "But I hate him!" she shouted to the darkness.
"Then promise me you will stay away from him and not let it get out of hand."
Zoisite fell silent. This was not a promise she could make.
END OF PART V
Enjoying the story so far? Gentle reader, you may e-mail me at: johns877@tc.umn.edu