The Path of Pins
The Path of Pins
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I don't Own Inuyasha or Kushiel's Dart those are someone elses babies, i'm just borrowing and performing unspeakable acts on their characters and such.
Author’s
Note: So this is my first Inuyasha fic,
I’m kind of excited. I’ve been meaning
to for a while but inspiration never actually struck. My muses are fickle things.
The basis of this story is somewhat taken from Kushiel’s Dart but
the plot will be different and I won’t be taking very much from it at all.
of. So I hope you enjoy.
The best
way of letting me know if you do is to review.
Keep that in mind.
The Path of Pins
Chapter 1
~
When love cast me out, it was cruelty who took pity on
me.
-Jacqueline
Carey, Kushiel’s Dart
~
When the poets speak of me it is my beauty they
speak of. Hair the color of night, a
black so true if reflects blue, stark contrast against the ivory plains of my
face and the perfect sapphires of my eyes.
They do not, however, speak of my humble beginnings.
My parents gave me a name, Kagome, and a face that
bred desire but naught else. I was born
to a merchant; my mother was what all women are, his property.
daughter. Even for all that, I
remember that they loved each other, I remember eyes the color of forest pools
in shadow gazing at a woman with flowers in her dark hair.
But love is not coin nor is it the
shrewdness that is required for a trader to make his fortune.
roads long and dull for a small child and my kindest memory of my first home was
of my grandfather. A man, grey haired
and stooped with age, who smiled when I pulled at his mustache.
princes in love and demons who could be noble or evil.
An honorable man, my father, but
his purse was not deep and between mercenaries and brigands he traded at a
loss. So when I was five and my
mother’s belly swelled with another child our house fell out of favor.
head of our village but he was not a fool and my father had already cost him
much, so he stipulated that for the gold that he paid for my father’s merchant
train my father would have to put up his own coin as well.
Our family’s wealth was modest to
begin with and with the turbulence of the age it could not last long.
with another on the way, what was their choice? I was a daughter with no hope of being anything more then another
burden and they hoped that this new life would be a son.
father’s dwindling wealth.
And I, I was their only commodity
worth selling.
My mother cried that day, eyes the
same shade as my own drowning in tears but she did not speak out against it as
my father lifted me to his horse. My
grandfather was the only one who did not approve but that was all he could
do. who would not meet my eyes and a grandfather too angry to hold her.
hands white knuckled on the reigns and that the end of it was a palace.
I was their daughter and they
wouldn’t sell me at an auction like a true slave, though that was what I
was. Instead they took me to the Lord
that ruled their lands, the second greatest house of our fractured country,
hoping that they would take pity. He
led me, my tiny hand pale against the tan of his own that seemed to swallow it,
to the center of the house where a man waited pillows strewn about him as he
lounged.
My first impression was of cold
eyes, narrowed as I was brought before him.
My second was hair wavy and black hanging down the length of his back,
one section lifted away from his face.
He was beautiful, and even as a child it struck me.
failed caravans, the child still in my mother’s womb, and his last chance to
bring honor back to his name.
And as my father’s voice ran dry
the man before us moved one hand. Not lifted, not quite; a pair of
fingers. “Bring her here.”
So we came forward, my father did
not tremble but he was stiff even as he bent one knee and I with the
fearlessness that comes with youth. He
lifted my chin with one finger and surveyed my features, they echoed my
mother’s carved in miniature perfection and she is said to have been a
beauty. His eyes fell on my own and I
saw something spark there, before he turned to my father.
“You have served in my armies,
yes?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do not let it be said that I do
not reward loyalty, and she is a comely child we may find something for her to
do when she grows older.” He named a
sum then, and my father gasped and I watched as his hands shook.
“My lord—” my father began.
The lord cut him off with a
gesture. “My terms are this; you will
tell no one. As far as the world is to
know that child you sire in three months time will be your first. I do not want
it said that my home is the refuge for the unwanted get on my vassals.”
“That is not—”
“That is my offer.”
father. “We will take her in, raise her
as our own. The price paid for her will
afford her some respect, I can offer her that much. What can you offer her?”
My father turned to me then, the
only clear memory I have of him, that last one. The dark brown eyes, searching my own, and the hard line of his
mouth as he studied my face.
He stood, releasing my hand. “She
is your then.”
I turned to see the man nod, a
gesture bringing a servant to his side.
“Bring the money for the man.”
It came quickly and I watched as a purse was thrown into my father’s hands.
into his hand, a dangerous thing to do in front of the lord, but with the
nature of the transaction he could not dare to do less. The picture is seared
into my memory with shame. A price was
put on my head; even as a child I realized this. A number of gold disks counted out to equal my worth, as I had
seen my own mother do for a fan once.
They were pretty, yes, and numerous to be sure but the meaning behind
them still remained.
With that my father was gone.
have achieved under their roof, though sometimes I wonder whether that is a
good thing.
“You will now be known as Kagome
Higurashi.” The name, that wasn’t wholly my own, was said softly and I faced my
new master, though I did not understand it then. “My servant, Kagura, will take you to your new rooms.”
hands clasped before her and head bowed.
Her hair was swept up onto her head, intricately styled with pins and
combs, and the eyes that met mine were tinged red, but all I could think of was
the beauty of her face and the way she took my hand gently in her own.
“Come,” she said soothingly in a
voice like music. “Your home will not be so bad here.”
My new master was Naraku Higurashi,
and though the world may curse his name and, I admit, I have n bon both cruelty
and pain at his hands I love him even now, a little. He gave me his name and when the very ones who bore me cast me
from them he took me in and gave me a home.
And, above all, he was the hand that shaped me, the one who made of me a
musician who could play exquisite music upon the flesh of princes and kings,
and he taught me what it was to think.