The Shogun's Daughter (43 page)

The baby inside her writhed, as if with her agony, as Reiko screamed, “Masahiro!
No!
”

*   *   *

TAEKO ACTED WITHOUT
thinking. Her left hand locked onto the beam while her right hand flashed out and grabbed Masahiro’s ankle. He fell. She heard him shout. A huge tug stiffened her arm as it took his weight and the woman’s. The joint in her shoulder popped. Pain shot down her arm. Taeko screamed.

*   *   *

IT HAPPENED SO
fast, Masahiro didn’t have time to be afraid. He saw the ground rush up to meet him. For the first time he realized that he could die.

Then something clamped tight around his ankle. A wrenching jerk on his leg arrested his fall. He slammed flat against the side of the tower. The impact jarred his chin, knocked the breath out of him. Masahiro gasped. He was suspended by his leg, pulled downward by Korika, whose skirts he clutched in his hands. Dangling upside down against the tower, high above the ground, she shrieked.

*   *   *

BELOW THE TOWER,
Reiko sobbed. She flung out her arms to catch Masahiro when he fell. She braced herself for the terrible moment when he and Korika crashed upon her, killing her as they died. Blinded by tears, at first she didn’t see what had happened.

The crash didn’t come. Reiko heard shrieking above her. Masahiro and Korika dangled from the tower. She exclaimed in astonishment. A small person clutched Masahiro’s ankle with one hand and the framework with the other. It was Taeko.

*   *   *

TAEKO WAS STRETCHED
between the framework and Masahiro like a rope about to snap. Groans came from the procession. Taeko looked over the edge at her hand holding Masahiro’s ankle, and Masahiro and the woman dangling. The long drop made her dizzy. She sobbed with terror. The pain in her shoulder was so bad, she thought she would vomit. Reflexes almost sprang her fingers open. She wasn’t strong enough for this. Her arm would tear off. But she held on to the beam. She held on to Masahiro.

*   *   *

HANGING BY HIS
leg, Masahiro felt Korika’s robes slide through his fingers. The silk was slippery, her weight pulling hard. Her hem slithered from his grip. He saw the soles of her sandals, saw her arms spread in a vain effort to fly while she plummeted. She screamed, then landed with an awful thud. Masahiro saw her body crumpled on the street. Another woman dressed in white stood by her, gazing up at him and crying. It was his mother. He twisted around to see what had kept him from falling.

A small hand clung to his ankle. It belonged to Taeko. Her face was wild with fear, her teeth clenched. Masahiro felt her trembling with the strain of bearing his weight.

Three soldiers bounded up the ladder behind Taeko. They seized Masahiro by his leg and pulled him up onto the tower. Masahiro sat speechless while they pried Taeko’s hand off his ankle. His foot was numb from the pressure, his ankle ringed with fingernail gouges. Taeko cradled her right arm, looking as shocked as he was.

“Taeko!” Midori came bounding up the ladder. She knelt beside the girl. “Thank the gods you’re safe! I’m going to kill you!” She reached for Taeko.

Masahiro heard Akiko and Tatsuo screaming his name. He figured out what had happened: Taeko had run away from her mother to follow him. Midori, and the other children, had stayed in the castle to look for Taeko instead of escaping.

As her mother hugged her, Taeko began to cry.

*   *   *

REIKO WATCHED THE
troops carry Masahiro and Taeko off the tower. She fell to her knees and sobbed with gratitude. Taeko had acquired the superhuman strength that people sometimes do during a crisis. Masahiro was safe. Reiko didn’t know for how long, or what would happen next, but she didn’t care. This relief, this joy, was enough.

Hearing a groan, she looked down at Korika. Korika lay in a tangle of white robes and broken limbs, her neck twisted, her cheek against the paving stones. A red pool of blood, mixed with gray brain tissue, circled her head. Despite her mortal injuries, she was still alive.

Reiko felt an unexpected sympathy for this woman who’d burned a young man to death, whose crime had led to the downfall of Reiko’s family, whose suicide attempt had almost killed Masahiro. Taeko wasn’t the only one who’d acted out of selfless loyalty. Korika had murdered Yoshisato for Lady Nobuko, and she’d delivered herself to justice.

Reiko held Korika’s limp, moist hand and murmured soothingly, “You gave Lady Nobuko her revenge. She appreciates your sacrifice. You can die in peace.”

Korika’s neck muscles tensed. Her body was paralyzed. She groaned; her eyes blinked. She whispered, “I lied. To the boy. It wasn’t. My idea.”

Puzzled, Reiko said, “What wasn’t your idea?”

“The fire.”

Reiko realized that someone else had been involved in Yoshisato’s murder. The crime wasn’t yet solved, all culprits not brought to justice. Reiko demanded, “Whose idea was it?”

“Lord Ienobu.” Korika’s voice was as soft as dry grass rustling in the wind. “He came to see me. He knew I would. Do anything for. Her.” A smile twitched her lips. “And I did.”

Reiko’s heart gave a thump of astonishment. “Ienobu put you up to it? He was involved in Yoshisato’s death?”

The shine in Korika’s eyes dulled. A last breath sighed from her. Reiko was holding the hand of a dead woman.

A tremendous contraction squeezed Reiko like a cruel fist inside her. She doubled over, hugging her belly, gritting her teeth in pain. Warm liquid oozed between her legs. The baby was coming.

43

THE MORNING AFTER
the funeral was gray, windy. Clouds shadowed the castle. In the palace, an assembly convened. The shogun sat on the dais, flanked by Ienobu on his right and Yanagisawa on his left. “I have two announcements,” he said to the government officials packed into his reception chamber.

Sano and Masahiro sat together in the front row, on the higher of the two floor levels below the dais. Sano’s cut, bruised face was stiff with his effort to conceal his astonishment. He couldn’t believe he’d lived to see this day.

The shogun held up his index finger. “I have heard a full report about the confession made by that woman Korika. I am satisfied that she set the fire and killed my son.” Grief momentarily halted him; he swallowed. “Sano-
san,
I hereby void the charges against you and your family. I declare all of you innocent of murder and treason.”

“Many thanks, Your Excellency.” Sano bowed. Waves of disapproval emanated toward him from the silent, motionless audience. He remembered the previous assembly, the purge, General Isogai, and Elder Ohgami. He had no friends here.

He looked at the men beside the shogun. Ienobu met his gaze calmly. Yanagisawa’s face was as white and rigid as an ice sculpture. Only the molten heat in his eyes hinted at how furious he was that Sano had survived against all expectation. If the death of his son’s murderer gave him any satisfaction, Sano couldn’t tell.

“I also excuse you for killing three of your guards when you escaped from house arrest,” the shogun said. “You can keep your post as rebuilding magistrate. And Masahiro, you are reinstated as head of my private chambers. That should suffice as reward for, ahh, solving the murders of my son and daughter.”

Masahiro glowed with jubilation. Sano was glad, too, but he felt bad about killing the innocent men. He also felt a bad sense of unfinished business. He couldn’t consider the crimes solved. Ienobu’s role in them had yet to be exposed. Sano and Reiko were the only people who knew about it so far.

“Today begins a fresh start for me.” Determined to follow the course of action into which Sano had pushed him, the shogun cast a baleful gaze around the assembly. “None of you will twist me around your fingers again.”

The disapproval aimed at Sano grew stronger. These men, who’d been his enemies to begin with, blamed him for the shogun’s fresh start, which would diminish their power. Sano himself wasn’t sure he liked it. Had he created a monster that not even he could control?

“Now for my second announcement,” the shogun said. “I am adopting my nephew, the honorable Ienobu, and naming him as my heir.”

Ienobu bowed to the shogun, then the assembly. He acted as humble as if inheriting the regime were a duty for which he must nobly sacrifice himself. Nobody seemed surprised. Sano wasn’t. The shogun had had his face rubbed in his own mortality twice. He needed more than ever to choose a successor. Ienobu, his closest surviving relative, was the logical choice. Sano suspected that many people weren’t happy about it, but they didn’t object and test the shogun’s new temperament. Neither did Sano.

He and Reiko were the only people who’d heard Korika’s and Lord Tsunanori’s full confessions. Last night, when they’d talked over what had happened, they’d agreed not to tell anyone, not even Masahiro. It was too dangerous to accuse Ienobu of multiple treasonous crimes when the only evidence against him was the words of two witnesses who were now dead.

Yoshisato the fraud wouldn’t inherit the dictatorship. Ienobu the double murderer was set to be the next shogun.

“Consider this a warning,” the shogun said. “You know what happened to the person who murdered my previous heir. Harm this one at your own peril.”

All attention swiveled to Yanagisawa, the most likely threat to Ienobu. A muscle in Yanagisawa’s rigid jaw twitched. He didn’t look at anyone. Nor did he reveal his disappointment that instead of being the adoptive father of the shogun’s heir, he was the enemy of the next shogun. Sano could only imagine how Yanagisawa would react if he knew Ienobu was partially responsible for Yoshisato’s death. He wondered whether, or when, to tell Yanagisawa.

“In view of new circumstances,” the shogun said, “some changes in the government are necessary.”

Yanagisawa stood. He didn’t wait for himself and his allies to be purged and replaced by men friendly to Ienobu. His back straight, his eyes ablaze, he walked out of the room.

*   *   *

“HERE’S YOUR MEDICINE,”
Midori said, handing Reiko a ceramic cup.

Reiko sat up in bed. She drank the potion of lotus seeds, ginseng, cassia twig, ginger, and beef heart that the doctor had brewed. Then she lay back, clasping her hands over her flat, tender stomach. Blood oozed into the cloth pad between her legs. Her eyes were sore from weeping.

“You can have another baby,” Midori tried to console her.

A sob caught Reiko’s breath. No child could replace this one that she’d spent five years hoping to conceive.

“I know this is terrible,” Midori said, “but remember, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I know.” But nothing could assuage Reiko’s heartbreak. Nothing could change what had happened yesterday.

When the troops had come to remove Korika’s body, they’d found Reiko lying beside it, in the throes of labor. They’d carried her home, where she’d delivered a stillborn baby boy. Reiko had cried while she held him. He was hardly bigger than her hand. His pink skin was wrinkled and blue-veined and translucent, his eyes closed as if in sleep. Reiko loved him as immediately and powerfully as she’d loved Masahiro and Akiko when they were born. But he would never grow up, never know her or his father or his brother or sister. This was a loss whose magnitude she’d never comprehended, a grief worse than any she’d experienced.

“Your family is lucky to be alive, too.” Midori spoke as if she knew her words were no comfort to Reiko, but she had to keep trying. “It’s a miracle, how everything turned out.”

Moments after the baby had been born, Sano had come home. He’d told Reiko that the news of Korika’s confession had reached the shogun at the mausoleum. Reiko tried to be happy that she’d exonerated him and her family was safe. With Sano’s reputation cleared, the servants had returned. But good fortune didn’t abate Reiko’s immense sorrow or guilt.

She’d known she was overexerting herself. No matter that she would do it again given the same circumstances. She’d saved her family but sacrificed her baby.

Midori said, “Look who’s here,” and left.

Akiko stood in the doorway, her face tight and unsmiling. “That old lady is here to see you.” She turned to go before Reiko could say she wasn’t receiving visitors.

“Wait, Akiko.” Reiko hadn’t seen her daughter since they’d separated in the passage yesterday. “Come here.”

Tears glistened in Akiko’s eyes. “You left me.” Her angry voice wobbled. “You went away and left me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” More guilt pained Reiko. Not only was the baby’s death her fault, but she’d hurt her daughter. “Let me explain.” She extended her hand. “Sit with me.”

Akiko looked at Reiko’s hand as if it held dung that Reiko was trying to pass off as candy. But she came, against her will, and knelt by Reiko.

Reiko exerted herself to choose words that a child would understand. “I didn’t want to leave you. I never do. But there will be times when I must. Yesterday I left because I needed to do things to save your life.” She spoke with all the sincerity and gentleness that her grieving spirit could muster. “You’re my little girl, and I would do anything for you because I love you.”

Akiko’s face worked. She was obviously torn between wanting to believe Reiko and not wanting to be placated so easily and hurt again. Then her tears spilled. “It’s my fault the baby died,” she blurted out. “Because I didn’t want it.”

Surprise and alarm stunned Reiko. While she’d been feeling guilty about Akiko, her daughter had been harboring an unfounded guilt about her. Reiko gathered Akiko in her arms. “No, it’s not your fault. Just because you think something, that doesn’t make it happen.”

Stiff and resisting at first, Akiko relaxed as she sobbed. Reiko soothed her with pats and murmurs. Soon Akiko pulled away, uncomfortable with too much closeness. But she skipped out of the room, light enough to fly.

Reiko was glad that the baby was the only child she’d lost.

A servant ushered in Lady Nobuko, the last person Reiko wanted to see. Lady Nobuko knelt, bowed, and offered Reiko a gift-wrapped box. “I’ve brought you some herbs from my doctor. They’re good for women who have miscarried.”