Just as she settled in, the litter halted suddenly.
Mariko raised the silk screen covering the small window to her right. Dusk was starting to descend. The forest before them was shrouded in mist, its trees a jagged silhouette across a silver sky.
As Mariko turned to address the nearby soldier, a young maidservant came stumbling into view. “My lady!” the girl gasped, righting herself against the norimono’s side. “You must be famished. I’ve been remiss. Please forgive me for neglecting to—”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Chiyo-chan.” Mariko smiled kindly, but the girl’s eyes remained wide with worry. “It was not I who halted the convoy.”
Chiyo bowed low, the flowers of her makeshift hairpiece falling askew. When she stood once more, the maidservant passed along a neatly wrapped bundle of food to Mariko. Then Chiyo moved back to her post beside the litter, pausing only to return Mariko’s warm smile.
“Why have we stopped?” Mariko asked the nearby member of the ashigaru.
The foot soldier wiped the perspiration from his brow, then switched the long pole of his naginata to his other hand. Traces of sunlight glinted off its sharp blade. “The forest.”
Mariko waited, certain that could not be the extent of his explanation.
Beads of sweat gathered above the soldier’s lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but the clatter of approaching hooves stole his attention.
“Lady Hattori . . .” Nobutada, one of her father’s confidants and his most trusted samurai, reined in his charger beside Mariko’s norimono. “I apologize for the delay, but several of the soldiers have voiced concerns about traveling through Jukai forest.”
Mariko blinked twice, her features thoughtful. “Is there a particular reason?”
“Now that the sun has set, they fear the yōkai, and they worry—”
“Silly stories of monsters in the dark.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing more.”
Nobutada paused, doubtlessly taking note of her interruption. “They also claim the Black Clan has been seen near here recently.”
“They claim?” A dark eyebrow curved into Mariko’s forehead. “Or they’ve sighted them in truth?”
“They are merely claims.” Nobutada lowered the chin guard beneath his horned helmet. “Though it would be unusual for the Black Clan to rob us, as they do not generally attack convoys containing women and children. Especially those guarded by samurai.”
Mariko lingered in consideration. “I defer to your opinion, Nobutada-sama.” Recalling the foot soldier from a moment ago, she attempted a smile. “And please see that the ashigaru have time to rest and take in water soon, as they appear overtired.”
Nobutada scowled at her last request. “If we are forced to go around Jukai forest, it will add a full day to our journey.”
“Then it will add a full day to our journey.” She was already beginning to lower her screen, the awkward smile still pasted across her face.
“I’d rather not risk angering the emperor.”
“Then it is an easy choice. We must lead so that others may follow, Nobutada-sama. You taught me that, even as a young girl.” Mariko did not look away as she spoke. Nor did she attempt to apologize for the sharpness of her retort.
His scowl deepened. Mariko smothered a sigh. She knew she was being difficult. Knew Nobutada wished for her to make a decision. At the very least, wished for her to offer an opinion.
To make a useless play at control. A play Nobutada could then smugly subvert, as her elder.
As a man.
Try as she might, Mariko could not help the resentment simmering beneath the surface.
Control is an illusion. Expectations will not rule my days.
Not anymore.
“Perhaps not easy,” Mariko amended, her fingers toying with the edge of the screen. “But it is simple.” She softened her tone—a pitiful attempt to mollify him. One that was sure to chafe, as her contrary nature so often did. Her brother, Kenshin, frequently gave her grief about it. Frequently told her to be less . . . peculiar.
To conform, at least in these small ways.
Mariko dipped her head in a bow. “In any case, I defer to your wise judgment, Nobutada-sama.”
A shadow fell across his features. “Very well, Lady Hattori. We shall proceed through Jukai forest.” With that, he urged his charger back toward the head of the convoy.
As expected, Mariko had irritated him. She’d offered no real opinion on anything since they’d left her family’s home that morning. And Nobutada wanted her to play at directing him. To give him tasks befitting such a vaunted role.
Tasks befitting the samurai in charge of delivering a royal bride.
Mariko supposed she should care she might be arriving at Heian Castle late.
Late to meet the emperor. Late to meet his second son—
Her future husband.
But Mariko did not care. Ever since the afternoon her father had informed her that Emperor Minamoto Masaru had made an offer of marriage on behalf of his son Raiden, she’d truly not cared about much.
Mariko was to be the wife of Prince Raiden, the son of the emperor’s favorite consort. A political marriage that would elevate her father’s standing amongst the ruling daimyō class.
She should care that she was being exchanged like property in order to curry favor. But Mariko did not.
Not anymore.
As the norimono lurched forward again, Mariko reached above to adjust the slender tortoiseshell bar speared through her thick coils of hair. Tiny strips of silver and jade dangled from its ends, snarling with one another in a ceaseless war. After Mariko finished sorting them into place, her hand fell to the smaller jade bar below.
Her mother’s face took shape in her mind—the look of determined resignation she had worn as she slid the jade ornament into her only daughter’s hair.
A parting gift. But not a true source of comfort.
Just like her father’s final words:
Be a tribute to your family, Mariko-chan. As you were raised to be. Forswear your childish wishes. Be more than . . . this.
Mariko’s lips pressed tight.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve already taken my revenge.
There was no reason for Mariko to dwell on these things anymore. Her life was on a clear path now. Never mind that it was not what she wanted. Never mind that there was so much left to see and learn and do. She’d been raised for a purpose. A foolish one at that—to be the wife of an important man when she could easily have been something else. Something more. But it did not matter. She was not a boy. And—despite being barely seventeen—Hattori Mariko knew her place in life. She would marry Minamoto Raiden. Her parents would have the prestige of a daughter in Heian Castle.
And Mariko would be the only one to know the stain on that honor.