by Renee Ahdieh
She glanced at Nobutada. She’d known for days that the wearied samurai was losing his sense of conviction. The lies he was forced to tell the son of his daimyō had taxed him. The grief in his eyes was apparent. Kanako moved closer to the wizened samurai. His shoulders fell in her presence.
“You are troubled by what must be done,” she said in a soothing voice.
“After the death of the former emperor, I am not certain why I am still here. What purpose am I meant to serve now, my lady? Why do I remain here when our sovereign has passed into the next world? How am I to serve his sons by spreading these lies?”
Kanako inclined her head sympathetically. “You are meant to serve my family. To serve the new emperor, as well as my son. That is your vow. Your way, as a warrior.”
The samurai’s features lost a measure of their severity. Then they began to wilt even more. Until the edges of his lips were downturned in defeat.
Kanako took in a steadying breath. Her resulting smile was one of peace.
“I wish to thank you, Nobutada-sama,” she began.
He nodded once, the resignation plain on his face. As though he’d known for far too long that he’d been played for a fool.
She continued. “I know how difficult it was for you to turn your loyalties away from your daimyō in service to your emperor, but the circumstances could not be avoided. We must continue to do all that is possible to defend the empire and the family at the heart of it. Especially after our last emperor was murdered in his own garden—within the walls of his own castle—we know there is no one who can be trusted. And this includes your lord, Hattori Kano.”
Again the samurai nodded.
But Kanako knew too well that her words were no longer taking root. His mind was no longer the malleable thing she’d first sought out with her powers. The strength of her magic had faded rapidly of late, and she’d had to expend far more of it on Hattori Kenshin than she first thought.
Kanako leveled her gaze. “I apologize, Nobutada-sama. For this and for so much else.”
Even before the words left Kanako’s lips, she pushed her magic outward in a blunt blow to his chest. He gasped as the air left his throat, and his body flew back, tossed about like a sack of rice.
This was inelegant, but necessary.
Kanako needed pliant minds. Minds lacking conviction. Lacking focus. Minds like that of the last emperor. Like those of the Akechi clan and the Yoshida clan. It was true that the lord of the Sugiura clan had been more difficult to contain, but even he fell in the end. She needed a mind like Kenshin’s the day in the clearing beside the watering hole. When he’d killed for her without question.
Nobutada could no longer be trusted.
It took too much of Kanako’s power to turn a resistant mind. Made it difficult to do anything else. Made her weak. This was the second such mind she’d been forced to turn tonight. But Kanako could safely stay in this colorless world until her strength was restored. She did not wish to kill Nobutada. Not yet. It would be a loss to them all if the empire no longer had such a fine warrior serving its cause.
So she used all of her remaining strength to take apart Nobutada’s mind. To dismantle every last form of resistance found within. The claws of her fox form drove into his chest, tearing through his heart, raking over his mind. It was not as difficult as it had been with Asano Tsuneoki that night at the Akechi fortress. The boy had his own power. And it had forced her out before she could wrest firm control. But she’d still found something of use there, buried beneath his convictions.
Men with convictions bored her most of all.
Kanako tore through Nobutada’s mind until there was nothing left. Then she reached back into herself, seeking her center, returning to her human form.
She could not stand at first. She fell to her knees, gasping for air.
A part of her worried she spread herself too thin. Those long nights overtaking so many minds in the eastern reaches of the empire had taken a heavy toll. The tiny mirrors along the hedge of the colorless world began to shimmer as though a gust of wind had raked across their surfaces. As they shimmered, they took to the air, their shapes like that of otherworldly butterflies. They blossomed and burst into hollowed husks of human beings. Like shadow selves.
All around her, Kanako saw the true souls of the minds she’d stolen from the people of Wa. The ones in constant agony, as they awaited an unforeseen fate. Kanako struggled to her feet, her sight lost as she gulped for breath. She fought for something to grasp. Something with which to pull herself up.
She’d spent years of her life quietly absorbing ridicule. Quietly enduring mistreatment by the ladies of court who followed that hag of an empress like ducklings across a pond. She said nothing as they demeaned her. Done nothing, save nurture her hate in cold silence.
But Kanako had witnessed what the empress Yamoto Genmei had done that night beside the moon-viewing pavilion. How she’d murdered the emperor to secure her own position and that of the crown prince. Kanako would continue splitting what remained of her power—until it was whittled down to nothing—if it meant she could destroy that woman and do away with Genmei’s power-hungry son.
If it meant Kanako could see her beautiful Raiden sit on the Chrysanthemum Throne, there was no cost too high to pay.
Nobutada stood, his eyes wild, and his mouth ajar. If he could make sounds at all, Kanako knew they would be sounds of terror. Of loss. She waited while his true soul rose from his body, turned into a silver butterfly, and settled itself in the hedge, its wings a twinkling mirror of dark and light.
A Broken Smile
Mariko stood in a circle of pastel flowers, smiling as the ladies of the court fawned over her. Whispered about her upcoming nuptials. Wondered aloud at how lucky she was to be joining the ranks of the imperial family.
“I’ve heard that Prince Raiden is the best rider in the yabusame,” one girl began as she strolled past a flowering hedge in the most vibrant part of the imperial gardens.
Another laughed. “And the most handsome.”
“I care not a whit for his looks,” a third young woman announced. “He is wealthy and strong, which are all the things that matter to me in a husband.”
They spoke just softly enough to maintain a semblance of decorum.
Just loudly enough to be heard.
They continued their prattle until its discordant melody became a drone. Mariko forced their words to blur together. She desperately wished to leave them behind and wander through the gardens on her own, so that she might at least have a moment of peace to herself. Ever since the announcement of her marriage celebration to Prince Raiden—which would take place in only two short days—she’d been beleaguered by questions and exclamations.
An elder lady of the court had been the first to excuse the impropriety of holding a marriage not long after the death of their last sovereign. “It is true it might be too soon, but the festivities will be a way to move our city past mourning.”
The other ladies of court had replied with solemn nods, as though this were a fact of true import. Mariko almost snorted at this. She had yet to witness mourning of any kind since arriving in Inako. As she suspected from the onset, the former emperor was far from revered among the nobility. They may have feared him, but they had not worshipped him as they were meant to do.
The idea of it. Worshipping a man as a god.
What would it look like to truly worship anything?
As Mariko glanced about for a way to excuse herself from the gathering, her eye caught on a familiar face, staring off into the distance beside an arrangement of spiraling gardenias.
Hirata Suke. The young girl who had been pelted by eggs the day after Mariko’s arrival. It had been a week since the events of that afternoon, but Mariko had not seen Suke since then, though she’d searched for her. As Mariko made her inquiries, she’d recalled her father speaking of the Hirata clan in passing, and it had not been in a favorable tone.
Hirata Suke’s father had ofte
n questioned the actions of Minamoto Masaru. The Hirata clan had been one of the last to turn away its loyalties from the former shōgun, Takeda Shingen.
Unsurprisingly, these facts motivated Mariko all the more to seek out Suke.
Slowly—so as not to draw attention—Mariko made her way to the girl’s side. Suke lowered her head and looked away, as though she wished for Mariko to pass her by. Leave her be.
“We have not yet had a chance to meet formally,” Mariko began with a smile.
Suke returned the smile, albeit awkwardly. “It is a pleasure to be seen in your company, Lady Maniko. Congratulations on your forthcoming union. I wish an auspicious occasion for you and a bright future for your children.”
Perfectly delivered. Yet Suke’s voice sounded hollow. That hint of dejection pushed Mariko to delve deeper.
Letting a cheeky light enter her gaze, Mariko smiled. “Do you wish an auspicious occasion for Prince Raiden as well?” It was a dangerous question, to be sure. But Mariko did not have the luxury of being indirect. If Suke reacted badly, Mariko could simply make a jest of it all and walk away.
Suke lifted her eyes with a touch of surprise. She said nothing in response. Her lips gathered in the suggestion of a pout. As though she were forcing them to keep still.
A twinge cut through Mariko. Though she’d given Suke an opportunity to reassure Mariko of her loyalties either way, the girl had instead chosen to say nothing at all. Her question had surprised Suke, but then it was clear—by the shadows under her eyes—that lies did not become her.
Unwilling to admit defeat, Mariko took a step closer. Dropped the amusement from her tone. “It was unfair of me to put you in an uncomfortable situation with my question.”
Though her eyes widened at the edges, Suke remained silent.
“I wanted to”—Mariko paused—“apologize for what I did the other day, in the dowager empress’s receiving room. For … participating in that spectacle.”
Mistrust clouded Suke’s expression. “There is no need for you to apologize, my lady. I was in the wrong. It is I who should humbly beg your forgiveness.”
Mariko took a tentative step closer. Almost too close. It felt as though they were grazing the surface of the truth. “There is no need to apologize to me either. I’ve been in the wrong since I arrived here, especially when compared to others.”
“We must distance ourselves from comparison.” Suke dipped her head in a bow. “That is the only way to be truly free.”
“Those are wise words.”
Suke tucked a tendril of loose hair behind an ear. “They’ve given me a great deal of strength these last few days. In a world built on comparison, it has been very freeing to see all those around me in this new light.”
“I could not agree with you more,” Mariko said, meeting her gaze straight on.
Suke finally smiled, and the gesture caused the edges of her eyes to crinkle in a becoming fashion. The small scar on her cheek from the eggshells had nearly healed. Mariko indicated for Suke to walk with her, and the two girls commenced with their stroll, though Suke maintained a wary distance.
As they stopped to admire a cloud of colorful butterflies, three girls walking together in the opposite direction bowed to Mariko, then sniffed at Suke with disdain. Mariko recognized one of them from that day in the Lotus Pavilion; this girl had been troubled to see misfortune fall upon Suke. She’d averted her gaze and her cheeks had grown pink with discomfort.
Despite their dismissal, Suke bowed at them, a graceful smile on her face. After they passed, she murmured, “We were childhood friends. I used to roam these halls with those girls at my side. And now?” She exhaled slowly. “I am dung beneath their sandals.”
Mariko kept silent in consideration. “I admire you for having the strength to continue treating them with respect after their betrayal.” She glanced at Suke sidelong. “I wish you could teach me how not to care. How to stay resilient in the face of all this … foolery.”
“It is not my own resilience, my lady,” Suke said. “I’ve had a great deal of guidance these last few days from someone who should not have reached a hand out to me. Especially after all those times I participated in shunning her from court.”
Mariko stopped walking to meet Suke’s gaze. “Is there a lady of court I have not met?”
Suke nodded, a hint of humor in her reply. “Your future husband’s mother.”
Mariko kept her features steady, though a curious drumming caught in her chest. Following her conversation with Raiden, Mariko had wondered when she might have a chance to encounter the late emperor’s consort. As could be expected, the enchantress had been absent from any court event attended by the dowager empress. Raiden had assured her that his mother had little interest in court.
Mariko grinned brightly. “I have not had a chance to meet her. But I would welcome the opportunity.”
“I’d be honored to take you to her,” Suke replied with a bow. “Perhaps later this evening?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you for the introduction. I’m not sure when—or if—any of the other ladies of the court would offer Prince Raiden’s mother or myself the same courtesy.” Mariko’s smile widened. “So what should we do until then?”
Surprise flashed across Suke’s features. “We?” She blinked.
Mariko leaned closer. “Have you ever played Go?”
Prince Raiden’s mother was not at all what Mariko had expected her to be. She’d expected a woman of great beauty, bedecked in sumptuous silk. A woman who did not shy away from flaunting the proof of her good fortune. Instead she found an enchantress dressed in simple dove-grey linin, without a hint of jewels or opulence anywhere to be found. Not even a single bar of tortoiseshell through her hair.
They met beneath a darkened sky, beside a pavilion set under the rising moon. Raiden’s mother stood barefoot by the water’s edge, her hair hanging down her back.
Free.
She glanced over at Mariko and smiled. Her expression was not kind. Nor did it appear contrived. It was strong. Clear. Guileless. Which gave Mariko pause. A woman like this—perhaps the greatest enchantress of her generation—did not rise to her station without being shrewd. Without being a gifted reader of minds.
Mariko stepped beside her. Turned to face her. Studied her as she studied Mariko, without even the slightest hint of pretense. Raiden’s mother was still a beauty. Age had not lined her appearance as it had others. She looked clever. Watchful.
Before Mariko spoke, she caught herself silently hoping to resemble this woman when she was of a similar age. She stopped herself, caution demanding her to stay vigilant. Raiden’s mother had not survived decades at court without a great deal of resourcefulness.
“I’m sorry it has taken me so long to meet with you, Mariko-chan,” she began. “Forgive a mother for being cool to the woman who will steal her son away in a few short days.”
Mariko bowed. “There is nothing to forgive, my lady.”
Raiden’s mother laughed. “I am no lady of this court.”
“But you are my lord’s mother, and I offer you the greatest respect I have to give.”
“Kano-sama should be quite proud of you. You are a credit to your father’s name.”
Mariko dipped her head once more. “I am undeserving of your praise.”
“I disagree.” She lifted her hands to direct a gliding black swan toward the bank, its feathers glistening in the moonlight. “I think it extraordinary that you managed to survive an attempt on your life, at such a young age. Then managed to stave off your doom while living among murderers and thieves.”
As with the empress, Mariko knew she was being tested, but in a different manner. It troubled her to realize she could not sense the intent. “I did very little, my lady. The stars were with me.”
“Of course.” The enchantress’s voice turned circumspect, almost as though she were beginning to lose interest.
They watched the black swan swim to a stop. Lower its head, as if in a
bow. Then take its leave.
“My son will not be an easy husband.”
Mariko did not respond.
Raiden’s mother continued. “I’ve not raised him to be agreeable. I’ve raised him to fight. To be beyond reproach. It has been the only way for me to ensure his safety. My greatest desire has been to raise a son not even the heavens could find fault with.”
Mariko’s eyes widened.
In that respect, she has failed. Utterly.
The shrewd woman turned to face Mariko once again, her gaze direct. “I am not delusional. I know Raiden has his faults.” Her features hardened. “He is still young and in need of guidance. Unfortunately he no longer has time to listen to the word of his mother.” A smile touched her lips as she gazed over the waters of the gently flowing pond. “Sometimes men do not realize the power a woman can possess. That many things begin and end with you. What I wish for Raiden is that you will be as direct as I was with him. That you will not allow his faults to overshadow his greater self.”
Greater self?
Mariko maintained a solemn expression. She nodded slowly, as though she’d been given sage advice. After all, this was what she’d been raised to be: a doting wife and a loving mother. Were these things her greatest wish, it would indeed be a gift to have her husband’s mother offer her such guidance.
“Impressive.” The light of the moon twinkled in the enchantress’s eyes. “You are more than what I thought you would be.” She did not appear to be lying.
“I am thankful for your wisdom, my lady. And for the compliment.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, Lady Mariko. It was a word of caution.” Raiden’s mother reached for Mariko’s hand. The woman’s touch startled her, for it was unusual among the nobility to cross into another’s space in such a manner.
The enchantress’s hand was cool, her touch soft. Mariko felt a soothing warmth flow from her fingers into her arm, as though she were being lulled to sleep. She wanted to yank her hand away. Fought the urge, for it would be the height of disrespect.
