Asano Yumi did not care. She’d had enough of being told where to go and what to do, by a boy with only a single summer more to his name.
Yumi yanked a hairpin from the twist at the crown of her head. A ring of hair tumbled down her back. She studied the note still in her grasp. The symbol of a starling stared back at her. Years ago, Yumi had chosen it to represent herself. A simple bird that did not evoke fear on its own, for it was small and rather annoying.
But a flock of starlings?
They could decimate everything in sight. Destroy entire crops. Lay siege to a domain’s livelihood in the span of a single day, if they worked together.
Using her hairpin, Yumi stabbed the piece of washi to the willow tree. Stepped back with satisfaction. Maybe Tsuneoki did not see her as strong enough to fight alongside the men of the Black Clan.
But he would see how wrong he was very soon.
The suggestion of a smile taking shape, Yumi mounted her horse and raced back through the trees, ignoring the way the branches almost unseated her as she tore past them.
Tsuneoki would scold her if he knew the entirety of her plan. Would rage and yell and lecture. But Yumi did not always tell her brother everything. And she’d learned only today that the newly instated Emperor of Wa would be in a very specific place, at a very specific time in the coming week.
Asano Yumi intended to be there as well.
The Masked Troupe
Murmurs followed her wherever she went. Mariko moved through the crowd toward her seat, her head held high. Demonstrating a fearlessness she did not feel in her heart.
She’d come to the city’s theater district with a purpose today.
Keeping her gaze focused on the path before her—and nowhere else—Mariko took her place on a silken cushion in a shadowed corner, far removed from the common folk who jostled for a better look at Prince Raiden’s bride. They muttered behind their hands as they waved their painted fans. Wondering. Whispering.
The murmurs died down with the first flash of fire. When the clash of a wool-covered baton against a drum bounded through the space, the people positioned on the low benches began cheering. The sound and fire represented the thunder and lightning at the start of the play. A play that showcased how their brilliant former emperor had rooted out the traitors from his court and punished them for their duplicity.
The crowd cheered as the first masked member of the theater troupe took to the stage, the monkey fur around his mask trembling with each of his exaggerated steps. He crowed like a buffoon, his speech a singsong celebration of simple achievements, such as managing to clean his own backside and not stab a servant for brewing the wrong kind of tea. This fool of an actor was meant to represent Takeda Shingen, who—if the play were to be held as true—was nothing more than a pompous oaf who bungled his plan to overthrow the great Minamoto Masaru.
As the crowd’s laughter lilted into a sky set aflame, another equally ridiculous man in a grinning mask lurched to the first actor’s side to portray the role of Asano Naganori. A gaggle of swooning young women trailed in his footsteps, their lips puckered, their hands clasped, as he bombarded the audience with tales of his numerous sexual exploits, including his discovery that bigger breasts were better. In fact, bigger everything was better.
The fool and his flock of honking geese.
Ōkami’s father and Tsuneoki’s father were being rendered as bumbling louts to entertain the masses and eradicate any trace of their greater deeds. Mariko watched and pointed and laughed with them all. She tittered behind her lacquered fan, until she’d lost the attention of those in attendance, who undoubtedly found the spectacle onstage far more captivating.
She’d chosen this particular play for many reasons. No one would question her request to see it, for it would seem odd to prevent her from watching a tale lauding the achievements of her future husband’s family. Following Minamoto Masaru’s death, it was only natural that there would be many performances depicting his heroism. His brilliance. His ingenuity, even in the face of such reckless traitors.
But this particular play?
It was a long one. Far longer than usual. It would hold its audience’s attention well past nightfall.
As the story continued—as the rapt masses became absorbed in the tale of treachery unfolding before them—Mariko slid farther into the darkness along the edges of the outdoor pavilion. She eased to standing, then lingered on the fringes, carefully fading into the deepest shadow beside the walls of screened shoji. As she moved, she slid the tinkling ornaments from her hair. Pulled a thin bundle of dark silk from her kimono sleeve. Then—when Takeda Shingen and Asano Naganori’s duplicity was unmasked onstage to sounds of sheer loathing—Mariko let the shouts and the jeering and the pounding of the drums conceal her departure.
Her heart hammering in a steady thrum, she wrapped her shoulders in silk the color of night. The silver flashes and thunderous roars of the performance reached their pinnacles, and Mariko shouldered past the gap between two shoji, angling for the small alley nearby.
“My lady?”
A voice rang out from her right.
Mariko stopped short, a wash of panic unfurling across her skin.
Isa.
Struggling to paste a smile onto her face, Mariko turned to meet the confused gaze of the young maidservant. Isa took in Mariko’s unmistakable attempt to conceal her appearance, however haphazardly.
The girl did not need to ask any questions.
Mariko’s shoulders sagged. Isa would tell whomever she reported to that Prince Raiden’s bride had attempted to flee into Inako without warning. The guards posted near the entrance of the theater pavilion would escort her back to Heian Castle, where she’d be forced to face her betrothed.
And explain herself to the emperor.
“Please,” Mariko said softly. She took a step, then stopped, not knowing what to say or do. If she should say anything at all.
Isa’s chest rose and fell. The puzzlement remained on her features, her forehead creased with concern. “Why?” she whispered.
Mariko shook her head. “Please, Isa-chan,” she entreated once more. “I’ll return before the play is finished. No one would need to know.”
Isa’s eyes darted to Mariko’s face. Back over her shoulder. Then toward the entrance where imperial guards awaited their return. She took another deep breath. It was as though Mariko could see Isa’s heart and mind at war with each other. Her loyalty should be to their emperor. Just as Mariko’s should be.
The same emperor who had turned a blind eye toward a plague as it ravaged Isa’s home province.
Mariko watched the maidservant make her choice.
The lines across Isa’s brow vanished. Without a word, she bowed low and went back toward the performance.
Mariko did not stop to think. She raced into the alley, pulling the silk tightly around her shoulders. In less time than it took to flutter her fingers, she was hidden beneath the canopy of a jinrikisha, being whisked into the winding roads just beyond the theater district.
Gratitude coursed through her veins. Isa had bought her this chance. And Mariko had no intention of wasting it on this play of lies and puffery. Her marriage would occur in a few short days. Acquiescing to it had granted her a single night to wander the city of Inako without a full retinue in tow.
Mariko needed to move quickly.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she told the driver of the jinrikisha where to go.
The moment Yumi saw Mariko, her reaction was to chastise the girl for coming to her okiya unannounced. The daughter of Hattori Kano must be ignorant to her brother’s recent comings and goings, and the Dragon of Kai would likely arrive at the teahouse next door at any moment.
If he saw her …
In the same breath, Yumi realized that Mariko had come alone. An impossible feat for any lady of the court. Suspicion flooding her mind, she shoved the girl into a shaded alcove, then pressed her through a set of sliding doors to a private room cloistered in the shadow of a birch tree.
“Whatever reason drove you to come to Hanami, I sincerely hope it to be a good one,” Yumi began in a hushed voice.
To her credit, Hattori Mariko did not waste time on unnecessary chatter. “Have you received word from your brother?”
Yumi pursed her lips at the younger girl. A part of her could not ignore the annoyance she felt whenever she considered Lady Mariko. After all, this was the girl her brother had allowed into the Black Clan. The girl who’d won the heart of Ōkami. For the last few days, Yumi had soothed her bruised ego with the possibility that this alone was the reason Tsuneoki had allowed Mariko into the ranks of their brotherhood. For Ōkami’s sake. No part of Yumi wanted to believe that Mariko deserved her brother’s admiration, much less that of the Honshō Wolf.