Yatagarasu Series
Volume 10:
The Raven's Autumn Full Moon
Author: Abe Chisato
Part 4: Matsutaka
“Well… are all of these supposed to be me?”
Sumio’s gaze swept over the glitter prints spread out on the floor. Her smile was radiant. “I am flattered. The prints are all so lovely.”
The print makers and artists gathered around her all spoke at once.
“It is gratifying to hear that from the Imperial Capital’s Rakujō herself!”
“Now that I have seen you at such a close distance, there are many parts I want to revise…”
“I’ll draw an even better one! Would it be possible for you to check it one more time, perhaps in a week or so?”
“This is getting completely out of hand,” Tawara no Jō muttered. He was sitting unobtrusively in the corner. His shoulders slumped in resignation as he watched the assembled artists fall all over themselves to compliment the rakujō.
Two months had already passed since the performance at the Majestic Mountain Theater. The print makers had continued to request permission to make glitter prints of Sumio. She accompanied Tawara no Jō often, and those he met with always made such a fuss over her.
The first time he’d brought Sumio along on his rounds, all the artists they’d met asked to sketch her. She’d kept smiling and said nothing. Tawara no Jō was left to handle these tense situations largely without her assistance.
This time they had come to inspect rough sketches made based on the artists’ notes. Sumio was as popular as ever, and the artists constantly peppered her with questions.
“She said that this is fine, so isn’t it acceptable to leave the face as it is, Tawara no Jō?”
Tawara no Jō was moodily fiddling with his nails in the corner of the room when this question came his way. He looked up, flustered. “It is not acceptable at all,” he said. “No one should be able to tell who it is. That is the purpose of the regulations placed upon artists and print makers.”
The artist scoffed. “Even if the name is obscured, there is only one lovely rakujō who could be the subject of a glitter print.”
The man was right, but Tawara no Jō didn’t back down. “No. If we allow one exception, it will cause more problems later. Please alter the face in accordance with the Imperial Court’s guidelines.”
The artist pouted. “It is a shame to ruin such a good print because of such inflexible rules.”
Tawara no Jō leaned back against the wall.
The owner of Treasures bookstore came close to him and whispered, “I can see that you’re having a rough time. You keep falling back on the rules, but I suspect the rumors are causing you greater trouble. Am I wrong?”
The man had poked a sore spot. Tawara no Jō said nothing.
Treasures was the largest bookstore in the city. Picture books were more popular among commoners than nobles as a rule, but Treasures was rich enough and well-connected enough to cater to every audience. Capable merchants used knowledge as a weapon. It was no surprise to Tawara no Jō that this man knew about the scandals plaguing the Imperial Court.
“Please don’t spread those rumors around,” Tawara no Jō said in a low voice.
“I understand your position,” the merchant said. “I, for one, don’t have the spine to make His Imperial Majesty the subject of a glitter print.”
Since the Boys’ Day Festival, there had been a rumor that the young emperor, who ought to be focused on choosing his empress, had ignored the four duchesses and was infatuated with the Imperial Capital’s Rakujō.
It didn’t matter if the rumor was true or not; its mere existence was problematic. Tawara no Jō found himself in the unenviable position of managing both Sumio and the rumor surrounding her whenever they went anywhere.
When Tawara no Jō had first heard that rumor, he’d gone weak in the knees. Sumio was already the Imperial Court’s problem child. She couldn’t keep collecting scandal like this. She would give him a heart attack at this rate.
Tawara no Jō knew that Sumio had been summoned by the emperor a few times since the Boys’ Day Festival. Sumio twittered happily away about these meetings wherever she happened to be.
“His Imperial Majesty has taken an interest in the hardships that common people suffer.” She had said something to that effect more than once.
Tawara no Jō knew better. The emperor likely didn’t care much about complex political matters. He was a young man who wanted to please a pretty girl. So much was obvious to him. It was easy for him to believe that Sumio was lovelier than any of the four duchesses he was supposed to marry.
A week of difficult meetings and managing rumors had ended with a summons from Lord Haruma. He’d given a typical report and was careful not to stress the rumor he’d heard about the emperor and Sumio.
Lord Haruma had given him a disarming smile and told him to keep a close eye on the rakujō.
That simple statement told Tawara no Jō that the rumor was not baseless. The emperor was more attracted to Sumio than he was to the four duchesses in Sakura Palace. How awful.
The owner of the Treasures bookstore sidled closer to Tawara no Jō and said quietly, “Still, that rumor is spreading. All the merchants have heard it. There is no point trying to keep things under wraps now.”
Tawara no Jō groaned.
He could do nothing to prevent rumors from spreading, but he was uniquely placed to prevent an unvarnished likeness of Sumio from circulating. At worst, he could halt the sale of such a glitter print before it hit the market. He didn’t want to draw the Yellow Raven’s attention for any reason.
“I don’t know how things will turn out,” Tawara no Jō said. “All we can do is change the name as much as possible and make sure the face doesn’t look too similar.”
The bookstore owner nodded. “Then that is what we shall do.”
***
After leaving the bookstore, Tawara no Jō and Sumio walked down the street together.
“Are you really all right with them selling portraits of you?”
Sumio hmmed. “I am concerned, of course. When I decided to become a rakujō, I knew that I would draw attention.”
“Some strange fellow might take an interest in you and drag you into trouble.”
“You will impose restrictions so that does not happen, will you not, Tawara no Jō?” She smiled at him.
Tawara no Jō scowled back. He was about to lecture her about her lack of common sense, but she spoke first.
“There is a place I would like to go now. Would you please return to the Imperial Court first, Tawara no Jō?”
Tawara no Jō blanched. “Did you even listen to what I just said? What nonsense are you spouting now?” he asked.
She was already the center of the city’s attention, and there weren’t even glitter prints of her circulating yet. Tawara no Jō was with her now, so no one accosted her, but who knew what would happen when she was left alone?
“Don’t go wandering around in uniform. You’re technically on duty, you know.”
“But the Lord of Saike has told me that I may go wherever I wish. As for my uniform…”
Sumio turned her palms upward and slowly moved both arms up and down as if she were rinsing a bolt of freshly dyed cloth. A thin feather robe appeared like invisible spider silk winding around her arms. She smoothly draped it over her uniform.
“Will this do, Tawara no Jō?” she asked.
Few nobles wore feather robes. Noblewomen never wore them. Tawara no Jō was stunned by the sight.
Sumio smiled. “Well then, that’s all for today.”
“Wait! Where are you going? If you insist, I’ll escort you to your destination.”
“I am grateful for your concern, but my errand will take considerable time. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Wait!”
“I’ll see you again tomorrow, Tawara no Jō.”
Sumio paid no attention to Tawara no Jō’s attempts to stop her. She ran off, light on her feet. The loose back of her thin black feather robe rippled in the wind.
Tawara no Jō panicked. Lord Haruma had commanded him to keep a close eye on her. It was his duty to watch over her while she was working. She usually took the Saike family’s carriage home to her lodgings every night, but now she’d run off on her own. Tawara no Jō had no idea where she was going, or for what purpose.
If he stayed still like this, she’d outrun him easily.
Tawara no Jō considered his options. He could stay here and face the consequences, or he could run after her and hope that he could run fast enough to keep her in view. He looked down at his stubby legs and did not like his chances.
Cringing inwardly, Tawara no Jō ran clumsily after Sumio.
Sumio was as fast as an arrow released from a bow.
Tawara no Jō ran into people many times, but Sumio smoothly slipped through crowds like it was second nature. If she turned off onto a side street, Tawara no Jō would lose sight of her. He quickened his pace.
At last, Sumio turned a corner. Tawara no Jō was close enough to see her turn. He hurried, running at full speed. The side street had far fewer people than the main thoroughfare, so it was easier to keep track of Sumio in the distance.
Before Tawara no Jō had time to catch his breath, he saw Sumio enter a teahouse. Panting heavily, he slowed his pace and approached the building.
Tawara no Jō read the store’s sign and scratched his head. “Why would she come here?” he muttered. “A tryst? Surely not.”
Teahouses like this were often used by nobility to hold clandestine meetings. It was located close to the main thoroughfare through the city, so it was large, prosperous, and solidly built. Entertainers could be summoned to private rooms. Tawara no Jō knew of this place by reputation, though he’d never been inside. Teahouses weren’t exactly reputable places.
Why did Sumio keep creating these outrageous situations? He’d have to start worrying about his own reputation at this rate, never mind hers.
Tawara no Jō lingered in the doorway, agonizing over his options. He should go home. He wanted to go home. But then this chase would be for nothing.
“Yo, old guy! D’you have business with my sister?”
Tawara no Jō shrieked and turned around, falling over in the process. As he righted himself with one palm on the ground, he saw a dark-skinned young man standing over him.
The young man’s face was boyish. He didn’t look angry or threatening, though his eyes were sharp and observant. He was somewhat short, but muscular. He carried a bamboo sword attached to a belt wrapped around his waist.
He was a Keisōin cadet.
A child perhaps ten or eleven years old stood behind the young man. He was adorably chubby-cheeked with round and curious eyes. The child clasped a bundle in both arms. His features were delicate enough to be a girl’s, but he wore boys’ clothing.
“Are you Sumio’s younger brothers?” Tawara no Jō asked.
The cadet smiled faintly but said nothing in reply. “Who are you?” he asked.
Tawara no Jō got to his feet and tried to compose himself. He brushed the dirt from his uniform and said, “My name is Tawara no Jō. I work with Sumio in the Imperial Scriptorium.” He almost added that he wasn’t a criminal or a suspicious person, but only a criminal would say something like that.
The cadet remained wary. “You’re… her coworker? And you’re following her. Why?”
Tawara no Jō shook his head. “I didn’t want to follow her; believe me. But she stands out. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“Why not escort her, then?”
“She wouldn’t allow it.” He couldn’t possibly tell the cadet that he’d run after her because of Lord Haruma’s orders.
The cadet’s slight smile flashed off. “You’re coming with me,” he said. He grabbed the sash at Tawara no Jō’s waist and shoved him into the teahouse.
This must be a place that the cadet frequented; he and his brother were recognized immediately. One of the staff waved and escorted them to a room upstairs without even asking for their names.
The cadet flung open the sliding door of the room without so much as peeking inside.
“Hey, Sumio, do you know this guy?”
Sumio and an unknown man sat inside the lavishly decorated room. They were alone otherwise. Papers lay scattered all over the floor.
When Sumio saw Tawara no Jō, her eyes widened. “Lord Tawara no Jō, what on earth are you doing here?”
“I told you to wait,” he said. “You wouldn’t wait.” And now he was in another fine mess.
The Keisōin cadet gripped the back of his neck as if he were a wayward kitten and shoved him forward.
“Please let him go. He’s been helping me.”
The cadet froze, then let Tawara no Jō go. “Oh. Okay.”
The cadet draped an arm over Tawara no Jō’s shoulders and said, “Sorry if I was a little rough with you. Don’t take it personally. I have to deal with a bunch of weirdos bothering my sister; I’m sure you understand.” His eyes narrowed as he looked Tawara no Jō up and down.
Tawara no Jō felt like he might die on the spot.
“Stop being so rude,” the little boy chided. His voice hadn’t dropped yet. He looked sheepishly up at Tawara no Jō. “I’m sorry if we offended you, sir. We worry about our sister.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tawara no Jō said. “I was chasing after her. I can see why you might be suspicious.”
Sumio nodded pleasantly. “Well, if that’s all taken care of, allow me to introduce my brothers, Akeo and Akemi.”
Akeo, the Keisōin cadet, gave Tawara no Jō a jaunty wave. He had participated as an archer during the Boys’ Day Festival.
Akemi was eleven years old—too young to enroll in the Keisōin. He bowed low.
“Pleased to meet you,” Tawara no Jō said. “And who might this man be?”
The man sitting in the room with Sumio laughed. Then he stood up and bowed. “Apologies for my rudeness. I am Matsutaka.” He had a low and pleasant voice. The corners of his eyes were sharply upturned and his skin was deeply tanned. He looked like a commoner, but there was something noble in his bearing. The way he spoke was polished as well.
Tawara no Jō asked if Matsutaka might belong to a noble family.
Matsutaka laughed again. “Certainly not! It is flattering that you think so, sir. But I am a common courier, nothing more.”
A courier. So he could read and write. That explained his bearing and how he spoke: Matsutaka was educated. Couriers did a lot of odd jobs in Yamauchi’s capital city. They delivered letters, of course, but they also drafted petitions and kept city and village records. Unscrupulous or impoverished couriers might sell good luck charms or love charms to the gullible. Most of Yamauchi’s commoners couldn’t read or write.
Many couriers were fallen nobles, but commoners could become one if they had the right skill set. Part of that skill set was noble manners and etiquette. A courier couldn’t deliver letters to nobles if they were too uncouth to be let through the front door.
“I never expected to meet the famous Lord Tawara no Jō here,” Matsutaka said jovially.
Tawara no Jō coughed and spluttered. Famous? Him? “I am not famous, I assure you.”
Matsutaka narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I hear. You got a perfect score on the civil service exam, didn’t you? I have heard you called the Great Scholar of Fukī Village.”
Tawara no Jō went rigid. His memories of that time were old and half-forgotten.
“Oh? I had no idea,” Akeo said. His dismissiveness of Tawara no Jō’s accomplishments was vaguely irritating.
“That was ages ago. No one remembers,” Tawara no Jō said quietly.
“Wow,” Akemi said. “So it’s true? That’s amazing, sir!” He gazed up at Tawara no Jō with shining eyes.
“A perfect score on the imperial examination… is that really such a remarkable thing?” Akeo asked.
“It is. It had never happened before, so he became famous overnight.”
“Even I didn’t get a perfect score,” Sumio said.
Tawara no Jō felt cold all over. “None of this matters now,” he said. “What is your relationship to this man?” he asked Sumio.
He expected the worst answer. “We’re lovers,” or “we’re married.”
Matsutaka answered, and his response was less suggestive than Tawara no Jō had imagined. “We became friends when Sumio was traveling around Yamauchi,” he said. “She brings me stories and souvenirs from the provinces sometimes.”
“Why go out of your way to use a room in a teahouse, then?” Tawara no Jō asked. “Your brothers are present, but they could easily watch over you in your own home.”
Matsutaka’s eyebrows lowered. “There are… certain circumstances.”
Sumio’s brothers looked uncomfortable. Akemi shifted from foot to foot.
Sumio shrugged. “This is as good an opportunity as any for us to explain those circumstances to Tawara no Jō.”
Tawara no Jō had a bad feeling about this.
“Wait. Don’t try to drag me into anything! I don’t want any trouble.”
“You chased me here. It’s too late now,” Sumio said. She chuckled nastily. “We are here because the emperor commanded it.”
Sumio explained that the emperor was interested in the living conditions of commoners in Yamauchi after speaking to her. A few days ago, several people had gathered at the Palace Above the Clouds to speak to the emperor about those living conditions. Matsutaka had arrived too late to formally meet the emperor and speak with him, so he’d been ordered to compile a report and send it to the emperor’s attendants instead.
“In addition, His Imperial Majesty wishes to hear more about my mother’s relief efforts for the poor,” Sumio said. “I am here because my mother had a message for Matsutaka.”
Akemi raised a document box over his head. “We thought it would be best to put his reply into the proper format, so we got a room here so that we wouldn’t be disturbed.”
Tawara no Jō followed Akemi’s gaze to the writing implements upon the desk. They were finely made, but had seen much use. High-quality paper was laid out next to the writing implements.
Sumio’s explanation made sense, but there were still things Tawara no Jō didn’t understand about this situation. “I still cannot fathom why you would not use your family’s residence for this purpose.”
If they were sending messages and creating reports at the emperor’s behest, there was no need to conceal their activities from anyone.
Sumio gave him a sardonic smile. “My parents’ house is being watched. That is why.”
The room fell silent.
Tawara no Jō stared blankly at Sumio for what felt like a long time. “Being watched? Who is watching it?”
“The Yellow Raven’s spies. His Imperial Majesty instructed us to hide our messages and activities from the Yellow Raven as much as possible. So you see, we had to meet secretly. There was no other choice.”
She seemed to really believe that.
“I can understand why you might be watched,” Tawara no Jō conceded. “But your parents aren’t involved with anything secret, are they?”
Tawara no Jō was one of the Yellow Raven’s spies. He’d been tasked to report on Sumio. He had no idea why her parents would be under surveillance.
“Our parents served the true Golden Raven, Emperor Nazukihiko,” Akeo said. “When Empress Hamayū and Princess Shion disappeared shortly after his untimely death, our parents were the first to be suspected of foul play.”
When Nazukihiko died, the Yellow Raven and Empress Hamayū had sharply disagreed over how to proceed. There might have been a war if Empress Hamayū hadn’t vanished with her daughter. The Yellow Raven had argued that they should submit to Nagihiko’s rule. Empress Hamayū had refused, insisting that her daughter, Princess Shion, should become the ruling empress of Yamauchi. Empress Hamayū had been distraught; she had lost her husband suddenly and was prepared to tear Yamauchi apart for revenge.
The Yellow Raven had always hated war. He’d moved to secure Empress Hamayū and Princess Shion, but before he could, they disappeared.
Sumio had already retired from service when Nazukihiko was killed. Masuho no Susuki had just given birth to Akemi and was convalescing at home. The Lord of Saike had sent out messengers and spies in the hope that they would find some trace of the empress and the princess, but they never did.
“Nothing happened for a long while,” Akeo said. “No one’s seen any sign of Empress Hamayū or Princess Shion in years, so the Yellow Raven’s spies relaxed their vigilance. Then my sister took the civil service exam and became a rakujō without anyone’s permission. So now we’re all being spied on again. We must assume that the Lord of Saike’s city estate is always being watched.”
Akeo put a hand on his cheek and sighed. “I went about this the right way. I asked permission to enter the Imperial Court and was able to leverage our mother’s connections so that I wouldn’t make waves. Most of the time, the surveillance isn’t too bothersome. The Yellow Raven suspects that our family doesn’t support Emperor Nagihiko’s rule.”
Tawara no Jō stared coldly at Sumio. “If you’re already being watched, won’t sneaking around make things worse?”
“But His Imperial Majesty commanded it,” Sumio said.
“You shouldn’t go out of your way to draw attention to yourself if you know you’re being watched and could be punished for what you do,” Tawara no Jō said.
Sumio raised an eyebrow. “Would I be punished for following His Imperial Majesty’s commands? I know that the Yellow Raven wishes to improve Yamauchi to the best of his ability. But what if His Imperial Majesty dislikes his methodology? I cannot run my reports past the Yellow Raven. That would defeat the purpose of submitting reports directly to the emperor.
“If there is nothing shameful about what the Yellow Raven is doing, then he has nothing to fear. I am merely reporting things as they are in accordance with the emperor’s wishes. Whether those things are right or wrong is for Emperor Nagihiko to judge, not me.”
“Well, that’s true, but…” Tawara no Jō hesitated.
Sumio sounded like she admired the Yellow Raven’s commitment to improving Yamauchi while casting aspersions on his methods in the same breath. What was he supposed to report to Lord Haruma?
Sumio stood up straighter. “It’s fortunate that you followed me, Lord Tawara no Jō. I could use your help with something.”
“Absolutely not,” Tawara no Jō said. “I am not helping you.”
Sumio grinned widely. “Oh, are you sure? It’s just that there’s a printed item I’ve been searching for. You’re quite familiar with the Imperial Scriptorium, so I was hoping that you would help me locate it.”
This woman does not listen at all, Tawara no Jō thought.
“Tell me: does the Imperial Scriptorium keep a copy of the Disaster Proclamation from when it was first issued?”
The Disaster Proclamation was a living document that was updated every year. The document was a summary of preparedness for anticipated disasters in various places in Yamauchi.
Tawara no Jō was so interested in the question that he briefly forgot he’d refused to help. “The first Disaster Proclamation, you say? Do you happen to remember when that was issued?”
“I believe it would have been just after Emperor Nazukihiko’s ascension to the throne.”
She was right. Tawara no Jō should have remembered that.
Normally, proclamations were distributed to the common people by being nailed up on signboards, but at that time, printed newspapers had been used. Identical copies were distributed all over Yamauchi. Tawara no Jō had been about ten years old at the time, but he remembered getting his hands on one of these newspapers. He’d found it novel and interesting that the emperor would share his proclamations with people in such a way.
Nazukihiko had not placed severe restrictions or regulations on publishers, but he had frequently made use of printed materials when issuing important proclamations. He’d never thought that the Yellow Raven was imitating the emperor he’d served by widely distributing proclamations in similar ways.
“I consider the Disaster Proclamation to be the clearest possible expression of the Imperial Court’s stance on protecting Yamauchi’s people. The paper used in the earliest days was cheap, perhaps because they had to print in large quantities. Hardly any physical copies remain in decent condition because of insect damage and mold. I would like to compare earlier versions of the Disaster Proclamation with the current version. I’m curious about the changes that have been made, if any.”
Tawara no Jō had expected her request to be more onerous. What she was asking for fell within the scope of his usual work.
“I would also like to examine reports concerning the Kuisaru.”
Those records would be more difficult to acquire. Since the end of the great war, the Kuisaru had attacked many times. Such attacks were about as frequent as bear attacks, but they caused a lot more damage. Kuisaru could take human form and were intelligent enough to target government officials. The Yellow Raven considered the Kuisaru to be a troublesome and possibly destabilizing nuisance.
Tawara no Jō hadn’t spoken to the Yellow Raven about this, of course, but from examining the records, he got the sense that the Yellow Raven bitterly regretted not killing every single Kuisaru during the war. Whenever there was a Kuisaru attack, all of Yamauchi was informed. Performers on stages would report the details of the attack and then perform a musical play called Flourishing, which was about the end of the great war. After that, reports of the attack were printed and nailed to signboards all over Yamauchi.
“Is His Imperial Majesty interested in the damage caused by Kuisaru?”
“No. This has nothing to do with His Imperial Majesty. I am interested in the Kuisaru. The emperor hasn’t asked about them at all.”
“Then why do you wish to see these records, specifically?”
“We are investigating the Yellow Raven’s policies,” Sumio said. “His policies concern the Kuisaru attacks. I don’t believe they can be ignored.”
Tawara no Jō wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t see the harm in digging through those records. Everyone knew that the Kuisaru were enemies of Yamauchi. “What records will you need? From what time period?” he asked.
“From after the great war up to today. I hope that there will not be too much for you to carry.”
“There won’t be. There aren’t that many official reports about the Kuisaru.”
“That’s good to hear,” Sumio said. “There’s no rush to get that information. The Disaster Proclamation should come first.”
Tawara no Jō nodded. “Since it is printed, the Imperial Scriptorium should have copies of it. I haven’t checked yet, so I make no promises, but it should be possible to locate different versions of the Disaster Proclamation.”
Sumio nodded in satisfaction. “That would be a great help, Tawara no Jō.”
Tawara no Jō felt like he’d severely overestimated himself. When he tried to emphasize that he wasn’t sure what he’d find, Sumio simply smiled at him.
***
Sumio said that after her discussion with Matsutaka was over, Akeo would escort her back. Tawara no Jō had no reason to linger, so he left the teahouse with Akemi.
Tawara no Jō was self-conscious. How would it look to people who saw him leaving a teahouse with a beautiful little boy on his heels?
For his part, Akemi kept fidgeting in a distracting way. When Tawara no Jō asked what was wrong, the boy said, “Um, you seemed troubled, and I was wondering if my sister’s request is inconvenient for you, Lord Tawara no Jō.”
His reserved manner and polite speech were utterly unlike his sister’s. Tawara no Jō was pleasantly surprised. “No, it is not inconvenient. What she asked for should be something I can provide without too much trouble.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
There was no sense of pressure from Akemi. He didn’t look at people like he expected them to obey.
“Will you be a Yamauchishu like your older brother someday?”
“No. I intend to help our mother. I want to be a doctor.”
Tawara no Jō gaped.
Akemi lowered his eyes shyly. “My reasons aren’t noble, I’m afraid. I don’t want to be a doctor so I can save people’s lives or anything. My brother and sister are clever and strong, but I’m afraid of fighting. Not just fighting physically, either. Seeing people argue makes me freeze in terror.” He paused. “Mother told me that if I really want to be a doctor, she will support me, but that healing injuries and illnesses is also a battle. She said I must not take it lightly. But at least there is no need to defeat anyone… You probably think I’m a coward.” The boy’s voice became quieter and quieter as he spoke.
“No, I don’t,” Tawara no Jō said firmly. “If you wish to become a doctor, then I think you should. I believe that you will.”
Akemi lifted his face. His large eyes were almost perfectly round. He stared at Tawara no Jō intently, seeking to gauge his honesty. What he saw seemed to satisfy him. He smiled like a flower blooming in sunshine. “Thank you. I shall certainly try my best.”
Akemi’s straightforward delight endeared him to Tawara no Jō. Was he really that woman’s brother? He found that very difficult to believe.
When they reached the main street, Akemi said that his home was in the opposite direction of where Tawara no Jō was headed.
“I think my sister relies on you a lot, Lord Tawara no Jō,” Akemi said. “I’m sorry if she causes you trouble, but I would be grateful if you continued to watch over her.”
Tawara no Jō had no choice but to watch Sumio, but he didn’t say that. He still didn’t know how he was going to report all of this to Lord Haruma.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said. He felt like this answer was inadequate, but he couldn’t honestly promise more. He didn’t feel any twinges of conscience regarding his obligation to report to the Yellow Raven. He felt irritated at Sumio for causing her little brother distress.
***
“Hey! Stop putting your problems on your little brother. He worries about you too much.” That was the first thing Tawara no Jō said when he saw Sumio the next morning.
Sumio gave him a flat look.
“On the way home yesterday, he kept asking me to look after you,” Tawara no Jō explained.
“Akemi said that?” she asked.
She pays no attention to what’s happening around her at all, Tawara no Jō thought. He picked up an inkstone and started grinding ink.
“Akemi is not the only one worried about you. Even that man you met yesterday was concerned. And your older brother was rough with me because he cares about your safety. You can’t keep gallivanting around doing whatever you want. Your actions have consequences. At the rate you’re going, I’d expect divine retribution to fall on your undefended head.”
Sumio’s expression became solemn. “Your words are justified,” she said. “But everyone does what they want to do, don’t they? I can’t be unique in that.” She paused. “I will protect them. I’ve decided that I will.”
Tawara no Jō’s frown was fierce enough to be intimidating. They’re the ones protecting you, you fool! he thought.
“When I decided to become a rakujō, we discussed… everything,” Sumio said. “I chose this path, and my family is aware of that. If I had chosen differently just to please them, I would regret it someday. My siblings help me, but they also follow their own paths. That is how we’ve always been.” Her tone was unusually serious.
Tawara no Jō wasn’t sure how to respond. “So that’s it? You’re a rakujō, your younger sister is an attendant in the Imperial Palace, your younger brother will be a Yamauchishu, and your youngest brother wants to be a doctor.” He snorted. “Your family is insane. I never realized that before.”
“They’re my family. I’m proud of them,” Sumio said. “It’s true that Akeo and Akemi worry more than they should.”
“And you let them worry.” He shook his head. He needed to warn her plainly or she would never understand the danger she was in. She was too blind to her circumstances.
Tawara no Jō put down his inkstone. “Listen. You don’t know why I chased you yesterday, but I bet you can guess. If you can’t, then I’ll say it plainly: you are considered a serious enemy.”
“Whose enemy?” she asked.
Tawara no Jō snorted.
Sumio appeared puzzled. “I want to know.”
“All the nobles, for a start,” Tawara no Jō said.
Sumio nodded. “I know I’ve made some enemies there.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
There were many who didn’t look kindly on a rakujō wandering about the Imperial Court as she pleased. That would have been bad enough, but the emperor’s concentrated attention upon her was like a target on her back.
The Rite of Ascension was underway. The emperor should be focused on choosing a bride, but he was more captivated by a rakujō than any of the duchesses. This was a crisis in the Imperial Court. If Sumio hadn’t heard the nobles talking about it, then she was selectively deaf.
Tawara no Jō tried to explain this as best he could, but Sumio only shook her head. “I think you misunderstand His Imperial Majesty,” she said. “He has no interest in me personally, I am sure.”
“It doesn’t matter. Rumors that he’s infatuated with you are spreading.”
Saike was the weakest of the Four Families politically. Katsura no Hana, the Saike duchess, had little chance of being chosen as Emperor Nagihiko’s empress. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Sumio had been placed in his path as a second Saike candidate.
“These things tend to get out of hand,” Tawara no Jō said. “People already know that Duchess Katsura no Hana is unlikely to be the next empress. But you’re an unknown factor. If you remain close to His Imperial Majesty, you should expect interference.”
“What kind of interference?” she asked.
Tawara no Jō sighed inwardly. She was supposed to be clever, wasn’t she? He’d rarely met a worse fool. “I mean they might send people after you to beat or kill you.”
Sumio remained silent for a long while.
Tawara no Jō had never seen her struck speechless before.
“The nobility,” Sumio murmured. “Yes, you’re right. Some of them are capable of such things.”
Her expression was cold and lifeless. When she’d spoken of her family, her voice had been warm and soft, but now it was sharp enough to cut.
Tawara no Jō shivered.
Sumio smoothed her expression and managed to smile. “Thank you for your warning,” she said. “I shall be careful. I promise.”
***
Water lilies and lotuses grew in profusion on the surface of the Summer Hall’s pond. The round leaves of the water lilies floated with gentle ease. Vivid green lotus leaves and firm flower buds grew over and around shorter neighboring flowers.
In Sakura Palace, the summer heat increased day by day. The lotus pond in the Summer Hall was the coolest place in the entire palace. Duchess Hotaru of Nanke had invited Duchesses Tsuru ga Oto and Yamabuki to the fishing pavilion in the center of the lotus pond.
Yamabuki expressed innocent delight at being served chilled fruit over crushed ice. Ice was always a luxury, but it was especially expensive in summer.
Tsuru ga Oto was in no mood to enjoy refreshments. “His Imperial Majesty summoned that woman again,” she said, tapping the armrest of her chair with her fingertips.
Hotaru lifted a slice of freshly cut peach to her mouth and said nothing.
Yamabuki tilted her head. “That woman? Whoever do you mean?” she asked.
“Surely that is obvious. The rakujō from the Saike family.”
The Hokke family was famous for its information network. The emperor hadn’t visited Sakura Palace once since the Boys’ Day Festival. Tsuru ga Oto knew that he’d met with the rakujō several times since then. Nagihiko was attracted to her; so much seemed certain.
“Honestly, why is His Imperial Majesty so taken with a woman like that?” Yamabuki asked with apparent difficulty. “Though I suppose I can understand the appeal. She is quite beautiful. It is only natural for the emperor to be curious about her.”
Tsuru ga Oto’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Please do not say such foolish things. Are you suggesting that His Imperial Majesty is interested only in her pretty face?”
Yamabuki was often intimidated by Tsuru ga Oto. She opened her fan to cover her face. “I didn’t say that in so many words, but it is true that she is beautiful.”
“I cannot bear the thought of an empress being chosen for her looks alone. His Imperial Majesty must act with the awareness that he is the Golden Raven! He is responsible for the future of Yamauchi. At the Star Festival, we should admonish him together and teach him a lesson.”
“Must you say such things?” Yamabuki asked from behind her fan. She sank into her seat like she was trying to hide.
Tsuru ga Oto made no attempt to understand Yamabuki at all. How could she sit there and blithely praise a rakujō’s good looks? Yamabuki would be the emperor’s concubine. For her to speak in such a way was unfathomable to Tsuru ga Oto. She should be putting herself above that rakujō in all things, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Praising a rival aloud was not behavior that suited a duchess.
As Tsuru ga Oto opened her mouth to reproach Yamabuki, Duchess Hotaru spoke.
“Calm yourself, Duchess Tsuru ga Oto,” she said wearily. “There is no need for us to act at this moment, or during the Star Festival. For now, we shall watch and wait.”
Her detached calm irritated Tsuru ga Oto. “You shall be empress,” she hissed, “and you intend to ignore this state of affairs? If you do nothing, you might end up like your sister-in-law, Duchess Nadeshiko.”
Hotaru had been poking a slice of peach with a confectionery knife. She dropped it.
Hotaru’s much older adopted sister, Nadeshiko, was the biological daughter of the current Lord of Nanke. Her life had followed a strange path. She had been betrothed to Prince Natsuka, the eldest son of Natsumihiko. It was assumed that she would become his empress when they both grew to adulthood. Before that happened, Nazukihiko was born. True Golden Ravens always became the emperor, regardless of their birth order, so Prince Natsuka was deposed and Nadeshiko’s betrothal was broken off. The Nanke family had tried to get Prince Natsuka to renounce his religious vows and return to secular life many times, but they had never succeeded. Nadeshiko was left in an uncertain position. Her family had treated her terribly in the aftermath.
These days, no one gave much thought to what had become of Nadeshiko. She had participated in Nazukihiko’s Rite of Ascension, but she had not been selected as his empress or his concubine. That Rite of Ascension had been plagued with unusual problems. The duchesses present in the Summer Hall all knew that, though the details of those problems had been kept under wraps.
Hotaru had heard the rumor that Duchess Hamayū had run away from Sakura Palace during the Rite of Ascension. Duchess Nadeshiko had come in her place and was sent home shortly after her arrival.
Nadeshiko had been summoned to the Imperial Court, albeit briefly, so she wouldn’t be allowed to marry a commoner or an unsuitable noble. Court gossip despaired of her, claiming that it was impossible to find her a husband.
“You understand me perfectly well,” Tsuru ga Oto said. “Nadeshiko believed that she would be empress one day, so she turned down every offer to come her way. She spent her days idly playing the koto and the biwa, and before she knew it, she was an old maid.”
Though she was quite advanced in age, there were still rumors that she believed that Prince Natsuka would marry her someday.
“We must not sit here and do nothing. We must work together with His Imperial Majesty for the sake of Yamauchi. That means we have to react to this rakujō nonsense whether we want to or not.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Hotaru’s mouth. “I shall not repeat Duchess Nadeshiko’s mistakes.”
Yamabuki peeked at Hotaru from behind her fan.
Hotaru let out a deep breath. “I shall tell you, shameful though it is. Duchess Nadeshiko certainly believed that she was destined to become Prince Natsuka’s wife. But it is not true that she did nothing. After Emperor Nazukihiko died, she tried to incite Prince Natsuka to take the throne.”
Yamabuki gasped.
“No, that’s absurd,” Tsuru ga Oto said in a choked voice. “No such information has ever been shared with the Hokke family, to my knowledge. It must be a fabrication.”
Hotaru frowned. “If only it were a fabrication. I wish I were lying, but everything I am telling you is true. I have heard it said that the rebel Empress Takako planted dark ideas in Nadeshiko’s mind. The reason that all of this is not more widely known is that Nadeshiko was the only member of the Nanke family who urged Natsuka to seize power. Everyone else has done everything in their power keep her quiet.
“This is what I heard, word for word as best as I can tell it: ‘Duchess Nadeshiko slipped out of her residence on a stormy night and rode alone to Clear Mirror Temple. Then she urged Prince Natsuka to raise an army, insisting that now was the perfect opportunity to seize power. Prince Natsuka wrote a message for her to take back to the Nanke family then and there and sent her on her way.
“‘The message said: “I’m sorry, but I cannot return Duchess Nadeshiko’s feelings. I do not seek to become the emperor and I never will. Please take good care of Duchess Nadeshiko and see her safely back home. There is nothing I can do for her now, but I sincerely pray for Duchess Nadeshiko’s future happiness,” he said.’”
The Lords of the Four Families all read this message in some form. It was like a bolt from the blue. Everyone agreed that Nadeshiko had acted entirely on her own; the Nanke family had long since given up on making Prince Natsuka the emperor. What’s more, this incredible scene between Natsuka and Nadeshiko had occurred after the Nanke family had made an agreement with the Touke family to act on behalf of Nagihiko, who had recently been declared an imperial prince. Nadeshiko’s actions ran counter to the Nanke family’s interests, and the Lord of Nanke—her father—was furious with her. He ended up owing a favor to Natsuka for preserving the current state of affairs even though Natsuka had been his political enemy for decades.
The Nanke family still gossiped about Duchess Nadeshiko being brought back to the family’s city residence to be chastened by her father. Soaked by the rain and bound like a criminal, Nadeshiko had wept, saying that this was not how things were supposed to be. She had cried out for Prince Natsuka over and over again. He should have been her husband. He never would be now.
The women of the Nanke family had described Nadeshiko’s face in that moment as demonic. She was like a woman possessed, and no sensible words could have reached her.
“Duchess Nadeshiko was kind enough to offer me some advice before the Rite of Ascension,” Hotaru said evenly. “She told me not to end up like her, though you can imagine she was quite polite about it. She warned me through tears that I should not follow her life’s path.” She smiled a little. “I certainly don’t want to wind up like her. I don’t believe that I will.”
Summer cicadas droned on outside, their shrill cries muffled by distance.
Tsuru ga Oto found herself without a single thing to say. She looked at Duchess Yamabuki, who’d gone very pale. The Touke duchess was covering her mouth in astonishment.
Hotaru let out a long sigh. “I had heard she was like a demon woman, but to my surprise, she was completely sane. She must have believed that she was acting for Prince Natsuka’s sake as much as her own. She chose to act, even though it might be foolish. The results are plain to see.”
Nadeshiko had failed to understand that Prince Natsuka had never been the Lord of Nanke’s political ally, for all that they were family. She hadn’t known about the firm alliance between the Touke family and the Nanke family. Natsuka had been dismissed as useless by the Lord of Nanke years before.
“Duchess Nadeshiko is not a bad person,” Hotaru said. “I am convinced that she is intelligent as well. But she failed to read the room. She never doubted that she would become the empress one day, and so she never considered planning for her own future.”
Hotaru’s shadowed gaze fell on Tsuru ga Oto.
Tsuru ga Oto’s shoulders jerked forward.
“We are our family’s tools,” Hotaru said. “We would do well not to forget it. We do not always have all the information we need to make the right choice. If we forget our place and act as we please, we will suffer for it.”
Tsuru ga Oto remained silent. She had never heard Hotaru speak so much before.
“You will be empress,” Tsuru ga Oto gritted out. “Such words are servile and unbecoming.” She swallowed hard. “We are not mere tools. Our families selected us because they knew we could succeed. They want us to be happy. We should not disregard their hopes and dreams for us.”
Tsuru ga Oto was confident that she’d been set up for success. The Hokke family sent her information on a regular basis. She was not arrogant enough to think that she would ever be the empress or a concubine. She was content to be appointed to her role as feather mother, where she could use her intellectual talents. She believed herself intelligent enough to make informed decisions, which was why she found Hotaru’s passivity so insulting.
“You should have more confidence in yourself, Duchess Hotaru,” Tsuru ga Oto said.
Hotaru smiled at her softly. “You were raised with love and care, Duchess Tsuru ga Oto.” She let the sentence hang in the air, implying but not saying that she had not been raised in a similar way.
Tsuru ga Oto squirmed as she watched Hotaru’s face. Tsuru ga Oto felt like she was being sneered at or condescended to, but there was nothing cruel in Hotaru’s expression.
“I believe that you should follow your own path,” Hotaru said.
“And what does that mean?” Tsuru ga Oto asked. “It sounds like you are calling me ignorant or willful. I am not sure which would be worse.”
Hotaru didn’t answer her question. She gazed down at the slice of peach in her hand and said, “In any case, I intend to do nothing unless it’s absolutely necessary. A tool that cannot serve its purpose is always discarded in the end.”
***
Nagihiko gasped in admiration as he looked up at Sumio. “To think that you compiled such a comprehensive report in so short a time! This is quite impressive.”
Sumio was seated across the table from him. “I will tell those who worked hard to assist me that the emperor praised them,” she said modestly.
They were in an audience chamber in the Imperial Palace. Yamauchishu waited nearby, but Nagihiko had dismissed as many people as possible. Even Yoshimichi had left the room, albeit reluctantly. The table between Nagihiko and Sumio was quite wide, so there was no risk of them touching.
The report that Sumio had brought for Nagihiko’s perusal was spread out before them. Nagihiko had spent hours agonizing over the report Yoshimichi had brought to him, and he’d still been unsatisfied by it. He had asked Sumio to compile a report on the exact same issues. What had happened to the cotton fields where Chihaya and his sister had been born? How was the Valley’s restructuring accomplished? What had happened to the people who had once lived in the Valley?
Nagihiko intended to compare both reports and make an unbiased, informed judgment.
The contents of Sumio’s report were more satisfactory than Yoshimichi’s. The report contained a lot more detail, for one thing. Personal testimonies were recorded word-for-word from multiple sources. Matsutaka and others had conducted new interviews in recent days.
What Nagihiko read was horrific. The tyranny of the family that owned the cotton fields where Chihaya was born was well known locally. Over the past several decades, nearby residents had sheltered tenant farmers who had fled those fields. They’d sought help from the provincial governor, but the family that owned the fields colluded with the provincial governor and bribed him to look the other way. The petitions of the tenant farmers who fled from cruel treatment were never heard. Many of the tenant farmers were taken away by the cruel family’s representatives, and they were never seen again.
After Nazukihiko became emperor, surprise inspections were conducted in various places, including the cotton fields where Chihaya had been born. The cruel family and the provincial governor had been punished for failing one such inspection. Conscientious locals rejoiced to see it.
Unfortunately, after Nazukihiko’s death, the cruel family bought back the fields that the emperor had confiscated from them, and things went on as before.
There were more examples of corruption exactly like this in all of Yamauchi’s provinces.
Nagihiko let Sumio read the report aloud for a while, but impatience overcame him. He had her pass the report to him, and he read it as fast as he could. It was written in clear, beautiful handwriting, which sped his progress. All he saw as he read the words were the faces of screaming commoners being trampled underfoot by entitled nobles.
He read about a merchant that a noble had stolen from. The merchant had not been able to recover from the loss and had gone bankrupt. A local official of common birth reported that a noble was embezzling and underpaying his taxes. The noble pinned the crime on the official and had him mutilated in public. A cook who was subjected to violence and coercion became pregnant with a noble’s child against her will. When she sought support, she was slandered, extorted, and sent away with nothing.
Clear Mirror Temple, which advocated for relief for the poor, had stepped in to protect tenant farmers from an overbearing noble. That hadn’t lasted. There were laws that said the tenant farmers were the noble’s property, so the temple was compelled to return them to the noble.
There was clear bias in some of the interviews, to be sure. Nagihiko suspected that Matsutaka’s bias in particular was showing in how the interviews were compiled, with each being worse than the one before it. Even so, the events described in these interviews were all terrible. If even half of what was written was true, Nagihiko must act to change all this, and quickly.
Nagihiko reached the end of the report, which was comprised of several paragraphs thanking Nagihiko for his consideration to commoners and asking that the report’s contents not be ignored.
The blood drained from Nagihiko’s face as he set the report aside. He felt cold through. He took a deep breath and looked at Sumio. “I’m not seeing much regarding the Valley,” he said. “Is that investigation not finished yet?”
Sumio nodded. “There is a bit just here. We heard from those who left the Valley before the Aerial Army of Heaven invaded that the warning issued to the residents of the Valley was high-handed and forceful. Those who left felt like they weren’t given a choice.”
The people who had fled the Valley before the Aerial Army of Heaven swept in hadn’t had any other place to go. Many of them wound up on the steps of Masuho no Susuki’s hospital, begging for succor.
“We also included some reports of people who were there during the battle,” Sumio said. “Many died, of course. Others were captured and turned into horses against their will. Women were shut inside women’s workshops in the city—they’re not allowed to leave without a chaperone, you see. A few managed to escape the Valley during the fighting, but since I am a noble, they have not agreed to speak with me.” She pursed her lips. “I may be able to learn more from the children that still live in the Valley, but they are wary of me. I would be grateful if you would grant me a little more time, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Of course,” Nagihiko said. “Take whatever time you need. You’ve gathered a great deal of information since I first issued my command to you. There is almost too much here for me to take in, honestly. I know now that Chihaya wasn’t exaggerating. I have a lot to think about.”
Nagihiko had never thought about his assassinated older brother much until he’d met Sumio. He found Emperor Nazukihiko’s name all over attempts to reform Yamauchi’s policies. That contradicted what he’d been taught. Until a few weeks ago, all he’d known of his older brother was that he was a selfish man who despised the Four Families.
And that he was a true Golden Raven, though Nagihiko didn’t fully understand what that meant. He’d heard about gaping wounds in the air that Nazukihiko had closed using Wisteria Arrows, but he could scarcely imagine such a thing. He’d also heard that Nazukihiko was a flawed true Golden Raven—incomplete somehow. Missing powers or memories or something else he needed to qualify as a true Golden Raven. If he’d been a true Golden Raven with all of the powers and memories that entailed, he would have been able to repair Yamauchi’s torn barrier magic and protect the interests of the Four Families at the same time.
Yet he’d neglected his duties. He had used his power solely to benefit himself. His reputation in the Imperial Court was still terrible, years after his death. Regicide was frowned upon by everyone, of course, but Nagihiko got the sense that most of the people who spoke to him about Nazukihiko believed that his brother had deserved to be assassinated. That had always made him feel a little uncomfortable.
What Nagihiko had heard more often than anything else was that Nazukihiko was a bad example. A flawed emperor, just as he had been a flawed true Golden Raven.
“You must not become like your older brother,” Yoshimichi had told him. “You must never neglect the Souke family or your allies.”
Nagihiko had never sought out the opinions of commoners before. Now that he had them, his opinion of Nazukihiko changed radically. There were contradictions between accounts, and he still didn’t know who was telling the truth. He was tempted to believe that everything he’d heard was true in some way. There was a bias to everything, of course, but the facts were hard to twist to any given perspective.
From the commoners’ point of view, Emperor Nazukihiko had been a good ruler. Nagihiko could find no way to argue against that point. The nobility painted him as foolish and incompetent, but his handling of certain issues showed that he wasn’t foolish or particularly selfish. It didn’t seem like he’d cared for nobles much, but he hadn’t done anything overt to harm them, either.
I wish I could have met him, just once, Nagihiko thought. He had so many questions…
…and one of his older brothers was still alive to ask. Prince Natsuka was the head priest of Clear Mirror Temple. He had stepped down as Crown Prince in favor of Nazukihiko without resistance. From what he knew of the man, Prince Natsuka had always staunchly supported Nazukihiko’s rule and his policies. If he wanted to get a better understanding of Nazukihiko as he’d been in life, Natsuka was the perfect person to ask.
But would Prince Natsuka agree to meet and speak about such things? What if their conversation ended badly? He’d never spoken to Prince Natsuka in person before.
Prince Natsuka’s name appeared frequently in the report in front of him. He was responsible for hearing the petitions of commoners and championing their causes in the Imperial Court. Nagihiko didn’t recall hearing even one petition from commoners when his council met to discuss Yamauchi’s governance. He guessed that Prince Natsuka’s influence had vanished from the Imperial Court after Emperor Nazukihiko’s death.
Nagihiko doubted that Prince Natsuka looked favorably upon him. But he was curious about his elder brother’s opinion of Yamauchi as things currently stood. Despite his fall from grace, Prince Natsuka was still doing everything he could for commoners and the poor. He wanted to speak to him, but when he thought about visiting Clear Mirror Temple, his legs felt like they would freeze to the floor.
What if Prince Natsuka hated him?
***
After finishing her report, Sumio withdrew. Yoshimichi entered the audience hall immediately after her departure.
Yoshimichi curled his lip when he noticed the document box sitting in Nagihiko’s hand. He narrowed his eyes. “There was no need to ask me to leave, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said peevishly. “What were you discussing?”
Nagihiko shifted the document box away from Yoshimichi. “You are too inclined to take the Yellow Raven’s side, Yoshimichi,” he said. “I was reading through more reports, and I wanted to receive that information without bias. If you kept interrupting us every other sentence, I never would have gotten through these reports.”
He had asked for investigations into the same matters to be conducted by two different people, and the results couldn’t be more different. “If you are worried that I will accept the rakujō’s claims at face value, don’t be. I intend to collect as much information as I can from every available perspective. After I am satisfied that I have all the facts, I will make my own judgment.”
Yoshimichi’s lip curled in dissatisfaction. “What judgment, Your Imperial Majesty? These matters are settled, surely.”
“There we disagree,” Nagihiko said. “I will make a judgment that benefits the people of Yamauchi. That is what an emperor should do, isn’t it?”
Yamauchi was strictly divided along class lines. The burdens of the nobility were falling on the commoners, and the commoners already had their own problems. Nagihiko believed that a balance of power was desperately needed. Yamauchi’s commoners needed help.
Yoshimichi was still agitated.
Nagihiko felt compelled to explain himself. “I believe that I understand your concerns,” he said. “I know that the Yellow Raven cares deeply about Yamauchi. I have no desire to make him my enemy.”
Yoshimichi’s frown didn’t budge.
Nagihiko knew now that Yoshimichi didn’t trust him or his judgment. That rankled, but there was nothing he could do about it. He decided to change the subject.
“Have you ever spoken with Prince Natsuka of Clear Mirror Temple?”
Yoshimichi’s eyes widened. “I have met him only a handful of times during temple ceremonies, Your Imperial Majesty. Why do you ask?”
“Would it be possible for me to speak with him?”
Yoshimichi’s frown collapsed. Now he looked frustrated, like a man fighting off the onset of a headache. “The head priest of Clear Mirror Temple is your older brother,” he said. “He is your family, so it would not be improper for you to meet him, Your Imperial Majesty. However, I would ask you to consider this calmly.” He spoke as if Nagihiko were a small child in need of correction.
“You must understand, Your Imperial Majesty. Speaking to Prince Natsuka would not be a pleasant experience for you, I fear. He is in a position where he cannot help but resent you. If you were to summon him for a meeting, he would come, I am certain, but he would not be pleased about it.”
Nagihiko was reminded of the tense relationship between his mother and Futaba. He knew that Futaba resented his mother. Perhaps Prince Natsuka hated him in the same way. He didn’t want to meet Prince Natsuka if meeting him would open old wounds.
Yoshimichi puttered about the room, preparing tea. His troubled frown was back.
Nagihiko watched Yoshimichi in silence for a time and thought about Prince Natsuka. He sensed that there was pressure within the Imperial Court that had kept them firmly separated for the past decade or more. He understood that things between them would be awkward, but he had no reason to hate Prince Natsuka.
Nagihiko had heard that Prince Natsuka was tainted by association because his mother, Takako, was responsible for Emperor Nagihiko’s death. Nagihiko failed to see the connection. Prince Natsuka had never championed his mother’s causes, from what Nagihiko could determine.
From the outside looking in, Nagihiko thought that this was what must have happened.
Prince Natsuka’s mother had assassinated Emperor Nazukihiko to clear the way for Prince Natsuka to become the emperor. Prince Natsuka didn’t want to become the emperor, but before he was given a chance to refuse—or accept?—Nagihiko was produced as an imperial heir.
How lucky, he thought, that I was born to be the untainted heir that Yamauchi needed after the emperor’s premature death.
It wasn’t luck at all. It was planned.
But he didn’t know how, or why.
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