But it was long past time for Yumi to select a benefactor. She’d been an apprentice geiko for far too long. A maiko rarely waited in the wings for two years, especially one of her caliber. There had been countless requests for her companionship. If she were to select from any of these extremely wealthy, high-placed noblemen, Yumi would not want for anything in life. She would no longer have to work in the teahouse, entertaining inane drunks with no security to offer beyond vague promises of wealth. She wouldn’t have to practice the shamisen until her fingers bled and dance each night before a roomful of idle men, all for the chance to be crowned the greatest geiko in the city.
But if she made her choice and selected a benefactor, Yumi would never be anything more than a mistress. Though her position as a maiko gave her the chance to learn and experience much of a life denied to most women, this was not a life she would have chosen for herself.
She had her brother to thank for this, as well.
Hot tears streamed down her face, carried away by the wind as she urged her stallion even faster. They entered Jukai forest, and branches tore at her cloak. A leaf scraped across her cheek.
It did not matter.
None of it mattered.
Her brother was too concerned for Yumi’s safety. Concerned to the point of forbidding her from experiencing anything of worth. But Tsuneoki did not know how often Yumi defied his wishes. He did not know how often his younger sister prowled the rooftops of the imperial city. How skilled she’d become at throwing daggers.
He knew so little of her. Cared to know so little.
And it made her furious.
Yumi rode to the clearing that once housed her brother’s favorite watering hole. It had been abandoned after the elderly man who ran the establishment had been murdered by the Dragon of Kai, according to an anonymous note left at her Oklya, he’d been cut down where he stood, along with his two grandchildren. The boy, Moritake, had been friends with Yumi when they were children. His sister had trailed behind them while they played, ever a loving nuisance.
They’d all been killed in cold blood by Kenshin.
It was not an accident that Yumi had set her sights on the Dragon of Kai. A boy so different from his sister, yet so similar. Both were prideful. Both were stubbornly certain of their own correctness, even in the face of their many failings.
At least Mariko was willing to learn. She possessed a mind like a trap. Kenshin did not wish to know anything. His mind was a void, yawning and deep.
Yumi slid off her horse before the beast came to a full stop. She took off running, past the fringe of maple trees, through the field of overgrown grass surrounding the abandoned lean-to. She came to a skidding halt beside the flowing branches of an aging willow that had always offered those who wandered by a measure of shade.
Her breath flew past her lips in shallow gasps. The anger returned, tearing away the last of her sanity. Yumi knew she shouldn’t do this. Tsuneoki had forbidden her from initiating any unnecessary contact with him. He claimed the risk to her safety far too great. There were channels in place for her to communicate with those outside the imperial city. What Yumi planned to do next was not one of them.
Her brother always thought he knew best.
Yumi bit down hard on nothing until her jaw ached. Then she tore the creased paper from her haori, her gaze fixed. Determined. She’d not waited for the missive to dry before folding it. Her handwriting had smudged, a stark contrast from the measured, elegant script Tsuneoki had come to expect from her.
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.