Yu might once have laughed at the methods of courtly letter exchange at one point, but he soon learned that exchanging letters with veiled double meanings and laced with poetry was surprisingly practical at times when being openly in love was hard; nay, impossible. But for now, the love letters hidden in this chest were of secondary importance to the two folded pieces of Michinoku paper that lay at the bottom of the tray.

Yu unfolded them with reverence and care, and examined the worlds stained into them by ink long ago. The first folded paper was a note left by his sister, before she was taken away to be prepared for her seppuku. The note was a constant source of reassurance for Yu; when the guilt became too much to bear, he would read her note—a written reassurance that this was not his fault, and that Kaede had willingly made the choice to take the punishment instead of him, regardless of what the punishment would be.

While Kaede admitted she had not expected seppuku to be her fate, she would rather give her life than let her younger brother die for a single mistake so early in his years. Aside from the note, she left a poem. Kaede had always had an interest in the courtly waka poetry, and so she left Yu a tanka she composed. Yu read the poem—he himself was no master of waka, but he recognized the simple beauty in Kaede’s words.

Unlike the Izu pine[1],
The maple will soon perish.
Yet it thinks only,
Of the sparrow in its boughs.
Can it live, without a nest?

Even with his limited knowledge of courtly poetry, it did not take Yu long to decipher the meaning in his youth. The maple was Kaede; it was for the tree their parents had named her. Of course, Yu was the sparrow; even if that had not been her nickname for him it would have been easy to decipher as much. Kaede had always watched out for Yu, even as kids, she had always tried to shield him from hardship. She claimed it was her duty as the older sibling to care for him.

For the longest time, Yu took that for granted, but now his sister was gone, and with her, went her love and care, and Yu missed that the most.

Yu read the next sheet of folded paper. This one had been Kaede’s death poem, another form of waka, though this time a katauta. These kinds of poems, Yu had become more familiar with in recent years, having composed a few terrible ones himself. A katauta was always written as part of a dialogue, either as a message or response to another person, and together, two halves create one part of a longer poem. It was that form of poetry that was most used in the courtship ritual of the Imperial nobility. That much Yu knew, though he never imagined such an archaic tradition would become pertinent to his own love life—or to his sister’s death.

Her death poem read:

The maple withers.
Fall gives way to winter snow.
Does the sparrow fly alone?

Yu had always found it harder to decipher this poem, other than the obvious symbolism that carried over from the previous poem. Lord Musashi had handed it directly to Yu after it had been presented to the Old Shogun. It had been handed over with a stolen wink, and the agreement that no one would ever know about it. Lord Musashi had never read the poem, but he knew for whom it was written. If anyone asked, it had been kept by the Old Shogun, for his collection.

What always threw Yu off was what Kaede was trying to say with her poem, aside from acknowledge her death, and perhaps inquire after the state of her brother’s well-being after. Why was it meant for Yu, of all people, and what was he meant to glean from these words, brushed in an elegant—if shaky—hand.

Moreover, why did Kaede write this poem as part of a response. Was Yu meant to respond? Was there another poem elsewhere? Did she forget to compose the rest? These questions had always bothered Yu, and it bothered him more that he may never know the answer.

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[1] A type of pine from the Izu region of Izumo. They are known for their longevity and are often alluded to in poetry and literature for this reason.