They’d all been deceived.
And Mariko’s betrothed—Prince Raiden—had left the forest with a prize worthy of laying at his father’s burial mound.
The true son of Takeda Shingen, the last shōgun of Wa: Ōkami.
Resentment smoldered hot and fast in Mariko’s chest. Guilt coiled through her stomach. She dared to sit in a pool of scented water, allowing her skin and hair to be brushed and polished to perfection while so many of those she cared about suffered untold fates?
She took a steadying breath.
This was necessary. This was the reason she’d asked Kenshin to bring her to Inako. If Mariko intended to act on the plans she’d formulated while journeying from Jukai forest to the imperial city, she had to be in the seat of power. Mariko had to find a way to free Ōkami. She had to convince her betrothed that she was the willing, simpering young woman he surely desired in a bride. Then—once she’d earned a measure of trust—she could find a way to begin feeding information to the outside. To those who fought to change the ways of the imperial city and restore justice to its people.
To topple evil from its vaunted pedestal.
“Stand,” the servant demanded in a curt tone.
Respect for an elder—regardless of status—drove Mariko to obey the truculent woman without question. She let the woman lead her to the largest piece of polished silver she’d ever seen in her life. Her eyes widened at the sight of her naked body reflected back at her.
Her time in Jukai forest had changed Mariko on the outside as well. The angles of her face were more pronounced. She was thinner. What had been willowy before was now honed. Muscles she’d not known she’d possessed moved as she moved, like ripples across a pond.
She was stronger now, in more ways than one.
The elderly servant tsked again. “You’re as thin as a reed. No young man will want to caress skin and bones, least of all one like Prince Raiden.”
Again the urge to react rose in Mariko’s throat. Though she could not really discern the reason for the woman’s distain, she suspected the servent belived a girl who lived amoung bandits did not deserve to marry into the imperial family. Did not merit the attention of a prince. The truth blazed bright within her. She was more than an object of any man’s desire. But on this particular score, the servant was right. She did need to eat if she intended to play the part.
Be water.
Mariko smiled through gritted teeth. Let her lips waver as though she were exhausted. Weak. “You’re right. Please do whatever you can—whatever magic you possess—to restore me to my past self. To the sort of young woman who might please the prince. I want nothing more than to forget what happened to me.” She struggled to stand taller. Fought to look proud.
Though the creases on her features deepened, the servant nodded. “My name is Shizuko. If you do as I say, it is possible we can remedy the effects of this … misfortune.”
Mariko slid her arms into the proffered silken undergarment. “Make me fit for a prince, Shizuko.”
Shizuko sniffed and cleared her throat before directing the other servant girls to come forward. In their arms were bolts of lustrous fabric. Piles of brocade and painted silk, wrapped in sheets of translucent paper. Trays of jade and silver and tortoiseshell hairpieces.
Mariko ran the tip of a finger down the needled point of a silver hairpiece. Recalled one of the last times she had held one in her hand.
The night she’d pierced it through a man’s eye for attacking her.
Mariko knew what she needed to do. For the sake of those she held dear, she needed to appear tall and proud.
And hapless.
She spoke in a near whisper, as though her words were nothing but an afterthought. “The imperial family will need me to appear strong, just as they are.”
Just as they will need to be.
Because Hattori Mariko had a plan.
And this unwitting woman had already provided her with the first piece of the puzzle.
The Ox and the Rat
Theirs was a complicated relationship.
One built on a bower of hatred, shaped on a foundation of deceit. A relationship rooted in the designs of two young mothers, who’d both raised their sons to share in their mutual enmity, while they’d vied for the attention of a bored sovereign. Yearned for him to bestow his favor upon them.
One mother had played the game well, but she had begun the match with advantages, both seen and unseen. A slender sylph of a woman, she’d captured the heart of the would-be emperor many years ago. A woman with wiles beyond her beauty and magic sliding through her veins. She’d conjured his dreams into reality. Taught him to commune with creatures and collect secrets in the shadows. A woman who’d shown him what it meant to love and be loved. Kanako, who had birthed the emperor’s firstborn son, Raiden. Kanako, who had been relegated to second place in his life, despite her dominance in the emperor’s heart.
The other woman had been foisted upon the emperor by duty and family. She—with her million-koku domain of a dowry—had weighed and preyed upon him, stealing him away from his true love. But he had made her pay for it. For years, the empress Genmei had ruled a lonely roost of tittering minions and nothing more, though she’d been fortuned to bear the crown prince, Roku.
These two women had raised their sons to hate each other.
Yet despite the efforts of their warring mothers, an unlikely kinship had formed between the half brothers.
The spring of his tenth year, Raiden broke a leg when he fell off his horse. While his wound mended, tiny Roku spirited away sweets for him, hidden in his silken kimono sleeve. Then—when Roku caught a perilous illness as a boy of eleven—Raiden sat by his bedside, telling him bawdy stories Roku did not yet understand.
But the younger brother had laughed anyway.
Their mothers had continued whispering in their ears and frowning at their shared smiles, but the two brothers had clasped tight to their bond, forging a lasting friendship. What began as a tentative childhood trust grew more steadfast of late. Yet those who persisted in murmuring at their heels often wondered if the two half brothers had yet to face a true test of their bond.
The test of might versus right.
The ox against the rat. One a creature of industry, the other a creature of ingenuity. Two sides of the same misbegotten coin.
Tonight the two sons of Emperor Minamoto Masaru, stood together in a pool of crackling torchlight, in the lowest reaches of Heian Castle. The taller, elder brother leaned against the stone wall, his burnished armor mirroring bright flame. The smaller, wilier brother paced slowly before a set of stone stairs descending into darkness, his silks pristine and lustrous even in the dimmest reaches of the castle.
“Raiden,” the new heavenly sovereign of Wa said, his back to his brother.
His posture alert, Raiden pushed away from the wall. “My sovereign.”
“I know you have questions.”
A thoughtful expression crossed the elder brother’s face. “Concerns more than questions.”
“Ah, but you forget: concerns are for the uncertain.” Roku smiled to himself, his back still turned. “And questions for the ill-bred.”
Raiden’s cool laughter sliced through the stillness. “I suppose I deserved that. Father would be proud to hear you remind me.”
“Even if he lacked in many ways, our father always did have a cutting remark at the ready.” Roku turned in place and glanced at his elder brother. “But I am not interested in having anyone openly challenge me, brother.” His tone was a warning, his features tight.
Raiden crossed his arms, the hardened leather of his breastplate creaking with the motion. “I do not wish to challenge you in the main. I only wish to spare you strife.”
“Then cease with being the cause of it.” The smooth skin of Roku’s forehead creased once. “Our father perished under questionable circumstances, and it is of great importance that we learn who is responsible for his untimely death. Failing to appear strong at this moment—failing to assert my sovereignty over all those who watch like prowling owls—will forever taint my reign. Decisive action is necessary, and I expect you to lead by example, with unwavering obedience.” His back straight and his chin proud, Roku shifted toward the stone staircase to begin his descent. A hand moved to stay him. One of the few hands still permitted to touch him with impunity.