Chapter 9: Ginger and Grimaces
The rhythmic clop of hooves on the cobblestone road was the only sound in the oppressive silence that followed Sekiro’s command. Orchid kept her spine rigid in the saddle of her bay mare, eyes fixed on the swaying mane ahead, desperately ignoring the queasy churn in her stomach. Sekiro rode point, his back a rigid wall of polished midnight armor, radiating a cold intensity that seemed to freeze the morning air. Thorn flanked them slightly behind and to the side, his gaze methodically scanning the towering pines and rocky outcrops flanking the road, his blue eyes missing nothing. Hana rode closest to Orchid, radiating anxious energy like a hummingbird trapped in a jar.
The first wave hit as they rounded a bend where the scent of wild mint grew strong near a chattering brook. Orchid’s knuckles whitened on the reins. A cold sweat pricked her hairline. She swallowed hard, the indigo silk suddenly feeling like a suffocating shroud.
Hana sprang into action. "Hold!" she called out, her voice unnaturally loud. She reined her grey mare hard, causing the horse to snort and sidestep dramatically. "Prince Sekiro! Look! Spindleweed!" She pointed wildly at a nondescript patch of green by the water’s edge. "Incredibly rare! Medicinal properties are… profound! Must examine it immediately!" She practically tumbled off her horse, scrambling towards the innocuous plants. Sekiro halted, turning with a look of profound irritation. Thorn’s eyebrow twitched infinitesimally higher. Seizing the moment, Hana shoved a pungent, knobby piece of ginger root directly into Orchid’s hand as she pretended to adjust her stirrup. "Chew. Now," she hissed under her breath, her eyes wide with warning. Orchid jammed the ginger into her mouth, the sharp, fiery taste momentarily overriding the nausea. She chewed frantically, tears pricking her eyes from the intensity. Sekiro watched Hana poke at the weeds for a moment longer, his expression flat. "Move out," he ordered, turning his horse without another word.
Ten minutes later, as they crossed a moss-covered stone bridge, the smell of damp stone and cold water triggered another surge. Orchid swayed, her face draining of color. Hana didn’t hesitate. "Ambush point!" she barked, standing in her stirrups and scanning the bridge’s supports with theatrical vigilance. "Classic chokehold! Thorn, check the undercarriage for tripwires! Sekiro, watch the high ground on the left!" She gestured wildly. Thorn, ever dutiful, nudged his chestnut towards the bridge’s shadowed underside, though his expression was pure skepticism. Sekiro’s gaze swept the indicated ridge, finding only squirrels. As Thorn pretended to inspect the mossy stones, Hana sidled her horse up to Orchid’s. "Right pocket," she muttered, eyes fixed ahead. Orchid fumbled in Hana’s saddlebag, pulling out another piece of ginger. "Faster!" Hana urged. Orchid bit into it, the acrid juice making her grimace. Sekiro glanced back, frowning at their proximity. "Clear?" he snapped at Thorn. Thorn emerged, brushing moss from his sleeve. "No wires, Captain." The title slipped out, stark in the tense air. Sekiro’s eyes narrowed, but he merely gestured forward.
By midday, the sun warming the cobbles and the pine scent thickening, the nausea became a persistent, rolling threat. Orchid’s hands were clammy. Hana’s interventions grew increasingly absurd. "Prince! That cloud formation! Deeply ominous! Portends… inclement weather! We should halt and debate meteorological strategy!" Sekiro ignored her, riding on. "Orchid’s mare is favoring her left hind! Must dismount and inspect the hoof immediately!" Orchid, already green, slid off while Hana made a ridiculously thorough examination of a perfectly sound hoof. "Stone bruise, definitely," Hana declared gravely, shoving another ginger chunk into Orchid’s palm the moment Sekiro’s back was turned. "Chew like your life depends on it. Because mine might."
A brief stop by a clear mountain stream offered a fragile respite. Sekiro dismounted to refill waterskins, his movements efficient, his back still turned. Thorn busied himself with the horses. Hana pulled Orchid behind a large boulder, ostensibly to 'relieve' themselves. Orchid sagged against the cool stone, closing her eyes, trying to breathe. Hana pressed a waterskin into her hands. "Drink. Slowly." Her voice had lost its frantic edge, replaced by grim exhaustion. She watched Orchid with haunted eyes. "This," she whispered, gesturing vaguely back towards Sekiro and the road ahead, "is going to be hell. Palace intrigue makes village gossip look like a nursery rhyme. Every eye on you. Every whisper dissected. Courtiers sharper than my best shears. And you," she pointed a finger at Orchid’s still-flat stomach beneath the silk, "walking in there with that secret? Unannounced? Sekiro finds out from someone else, or gods forbid, you start puking during the Spring Equinox banquet?" She shuddered dramatically. "This ginger routine? It’s a temporary patch on a dam about to burst. Tell him. Tonight. Before we cross the Silver Gates."
Orchid swallowed, the water tasting like fear. "I know," she breathed, her shifting eyes wide with dread. "I just… need the right moment."
"The moment is now," Hana insisted. "Before 'now' bites us all in the—"
"Ladies." Thorn’s calm voice cut through their hushed panic. He stood at the edge of the boulder, arms crossed, his reddish-brown hair tied back neatly, his blue eyes glacial. He hadn't approached silently; they’d simply been too absorbed to notice. His gaze flicked from Hana’s tense face to Orchid’s pale one, lingering on the half-chewed piece of ginger still clutched forgotten in her hand. "Enough," he stated, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. "What. In the name of the Silent Emperor’s ghost. Is going on?" He took a step closer, his shadow falling over them. "The 'rare herbs' that look like common ditchweed? The 'bandit traps' on a patrolled Imperial road? The phantom lameness? The… excessive chewing?" He nodded pointedly at the ginger. "Prince Sekiro is preoccupied with security and his own thoughts. I am not." His gaze locked onto Orchid, piercing and relentless. "You’re ill. Or poisoned. Or hiding something that makes Hana act like a jester on festival day. Which is it, my Lady? Because whatever it is, it’s compromising the mission and grating on the Prince’s already frayed patience." He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "And if it’s a threat to him…"
Hana stepped slightly in front of Orchid, but Thorn’s stare didn’t waver. Orchid met his blue eyes, the shifting colors in her own churning like a storm sea. The ginger root felt slick in her sweating palm. The weight of the secret, the fear of Sekiro’s reaction, the sheer exhaustion of the charade – it pressed down, suffocating. Thorn waited, implacable. The only sounds were the gurgle of the stream and the distant cry of a hawk circling high above the pines.
The gurgle of the stream and the hawk's distant cry hung in the air, thin and brittle under Thorn’s unrelenting stare. His blue eyes, glacier-cold, pinned Orchid against the rough stone of the boulder. Hana’s protective stance felt flimsy under that scrutiny. "My Lady," Thorn repeated, the title clipped, demanding. "Answer."
Orchid’s shifting eyes darted from Thorn to Hana’s terrified face, then back. The ginger root was a sticky lump in her sweating palm. She opened her mouth, a denial forming, but another wave slammed into her, fierce and sudden. It wasn’t just nausea; it was a shivering, bone-deep revolt. Her stomach clenched violently, bile rising hot and sharp in her throat. She doubled over, gasping, one hand flying to her mouth, the other bracing against the rock. The ginger tumbled to the mossy ground.
"It's not poison!" Hana yelped, her voice cracking with frantic desperation. She grabbed Orchid’s arm, her own face pale. "It’s not! It’s really, truly not poison, Thorn, I swear by every root in the forest, it’s not that!" She waved her hands wildly, words tumbling over each other. "She’s fine, it’s just travel, bad air, something she ate, maybe the saddle leather, or—"
Thorn’s expression didn’t soften. Suspicion hardened into alarm. He took another step, his hand drifting towards his belt. "Hana, stop babbling. Lady Orchid, if you are compromised—"
Orchid choked back the bile, the acrid taste burning. Panic, raw and primal, cut through the sickness. Hana’s frantic denials were only confirming Thorn’s fears. She saw the calculation in his eyes – protect the Prince, neutralize the threat. Before rationality could stop her, before Thorn could draw steel or call out, Orchid lunged.
She wasn’t a fighter like them, but she was fast. Blindingly fast. She shot forward, her silk whispering, and grabbed the tough fabric of Thorn’s uniform collar with both hands. Using her momentum and his surprise, she yanked down hard. He stumbled, caught off guard by the sheer ferocity from the woman currently retching, his face brought level with hers, inches away. His blue eyes widened, stunned.
"If I tell you," Orchid hissed, her voice rough but low and fierce, her shifting eyes locking onto his, "you cannot tell him. Swear it." Her knuckles were white on his collar. The scent of pine and cold sweat filled the space between them.
Thorn’s jaw tightened. He didn’t struggle against her grip, but his gaze was flinty. "My Lady," he stated, his voice rigid with duty, "I cannot swear that. My oath is to the Crown Prince. If it concerns his safety, or yours, he must know."
"Then you cannot know," Orchid snapped back, desperation edging her voice. Her grip tightened almost painfully. "Walk away, Thorn. Right now. Forget this."
A muscle ticked in Thorn’s cheek. His eyes flicked over her face – the pallor, the sheen of sweat, the sheer terror warring with defiance in her kaleidoscope gaze. He saw Hana hovering, white-knuckled, ready to pounce or plead. He looked back at Orchid. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. The hawk had stopped crying. Finally, Thorn let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose. His shoulders lost a fraction of their rigidity. "Fine," he ground out, the single syllable sounding like it cost him dearly. "Tell me."
Relief warred with terror. Orchid held his gaze, her voice dropping to a raw whisper only he could hear. "I’m pregnant."
Thorn’s reaction was instantaneous and catastrophic. His eyes flew wide, shock obliterating his usual stoic mask. "You’re WHAT?!" The words burst out of him, far too loud, echoing off the boulder and the surrounding pines. It was less a question, more a strangled shout of pure, unguarded astonishment.
Hana gasped. Orchid froze, horror drenching her.
From the direction of the stream, Sekiro’s voice cut through the sudden, ringing silence, sharp with immediate alarm. "Orchid? Thorn? What was that shout? Report!"
"Shit!" Hana hissed. Panic ignited. She grabbed Thorn’s arm. Orchid, still clutching his collar, pulled with desperate strength. Together, they yanked the stunned, rigid form of the Imperial Shadow Guard bodily behind the meager cover of the large boulder, crushing damp ferns beneath their boots. Thorn stumbled, momentarily unresisting, shock still slackening his usually precise movements. The three of them collapsed into a tight, frantic huddle against the cold stone, breathing ragged, the Prince’s approaching footsteps crunching on the gravel path beside the stream, closing in fast. The discarded ginger root lay forgotten on the moss, a small, pungent casualty of the chaos.
The discarded ginger root lay forgotten on the moss, a small, pungent casualty of the chaos. Crushed ferns released their sharp, green scent beneath their frantic boots. Sekiro’s footsteps, deliberate and heavy on the gravel path beside the stream, grew terrifyingly close.
"Move!" Hana hissed, shoving Thorn backwards against the boulder. Orchid scrambled, grabbing Thorn’s arm. In a tangle of limbs and desperation, they collapsed onto Thorn himself, Hana landing awkwardly across his legs, Orchid half-sprawled over his chest. Thorn grunted, pinned beneath their combined weight and panic, his face inches from Orchid’s terrified eyes. The rough stone scraped his back through his uniform.
Hana stared straight ahead over Thorn’s shoulder, her expression utterly blank, devoid of her usual sharp wit. "Orchid," she stated flatly, her voice devoid of inflection, "this is stupid." Thorn shifted uncomfortably beneath them, his blue eyes fixed on the moss inches from his face. "I concur," he muttered, his voice tight with suppressed alarm and sheer awkwardness.
Orchid frantically pushed herself up slightly, her silk snagging on Thorn’s armor buckle. "I just need time!" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Time to adjust! To all of this… insanity!" Her shifting eyes darted towards the sound of approaching steps. "Please!"
Thorn’s head turned slightly, his gaze meeting hers with urgent practicality. "The Prince is already concerned," he whispered back, low and intense. "You’re just making it worse. He will be ecstatic." Orchid pressed her palms against the cool stone beside Thorn’s head, trying to lever herself off him. "I know he will!" she breathed, desperation lacing every word. "But there’s so much he needs to worry about now! The court, the journey, everything!"
"We cannot keep this a secret," Thorn insisted, his voice hardening with the certainty of duty. Sekiro’s shadow fell across the moss near their hiding spot. Hana finally blinked, her blank stare shifting to Orchid. "See?" she hissed, her voice regaining a sliver of its familiar bite. "Orchid, I told you this is insane."
Sekiro rounded the boulder. He stopped, taking in the bizarre tableau: Thorn flat on his back on the damp ground, Hana half-sitting on his legs, Orchid scrambling off his chest, her indigo silk rumpled and stained with moss. His brow furrowed deeply, confusion warring with suspicion. "What," he demanded, his voice dangerously calm, "is going on?" He scanned their flushed faces, the crushed ferns, Thorn’s rigid posture. "You've been acting strange all morning."
They scrambled. Orchid lurched backwards, bumping into the boulder. Hana sprang off Thorn’s legs as if scalded. Thorn rolled sideways and pushed himself up in one stiff, embarrassed motion, brushing dirt and crushed greenery from his uniform with sharp, jerky movements. His cheeks were flushed crimson beneath his reddish-brown hair. Hana planted herself slightly in front of Orchid, forcing a weak smile. "Nothing, my Prince! Just… just playing a game of wrestling! Passing the time!" Her voice was too bright, too loud.
Sekiro’s sharp gaze instantly locked onto Thorn. The Shadow Guard froze mid-brush, caught. His eyes flickered away, then back, unable to meet his Prince’s piercing stare. The guilt was written plainly across his usually stoic face – a stark betrayal of his training. Sekiro’s expression darkened. "Thorn," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Tell me."
Orchid reacted before Thorn could open his mouth. Panic surged. She shoved Thorn hard in the shoulder, pushing him stumbling sideways out of the direct line of Sekiro’s interrogation. She stepped forward, her own face blazing scarlet, hands clenched at her sides. "It’s my fault!" she blurted out, the words awkward and too loud in the quiet glade. "All of it! But… but I want to tell you later!" Her shifting eyes pleaded with him, wide and terrified.
Sekiro stared at her, truly stared. The rigid control he’d maintained since the courtyard fractured slightly, revealing stark bewilderment beneath. He took a step closer, his gaze intense, searching her face. "We cannot continue to move forward like this, Orchid," he stated, his voice firm but laced with a confusion she’d never heard directed at her before. "This secrecy. These… games."
Orchid flinched. Her shoulders slumped. The frantic energy drained away, replaced by a profound weariness. Her voice lowered, dropping to a raw whisper that cut through the pine-scented air. "Please," she breathed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I beg you." She held his gaze, the vulnerability absolute, terrifying.
Sekiro froze. He had seen Orchid fierce, clever, playful, even afraid. But never this. Never begging. It struck him like a physical blow, dismantling his frustration instantly. He studied her pale face, the tremor in her hands, the sheer desperation radiating from her. His jaw tightened, then relaxed infinitesimally. He glanced at Thorn, still looking profoundly uncomfortable, and Hana, radiating tense relief. "We have a stop tonight," he conceded, the words clipped but final. His gaze returned to Orchid, holding hers with unwavering intensity. "And I expect to know what is going on." He didn't wait for a reply. He turned sharply and strode back towards the horses, the rigid line of his shoulders the only sign of the storm brewing beneath the surface. The discarded ginger root lay trampled into the moss.