Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

His wife hurried out of the mansion. She was as ugly as Kikuko was beautiful. Her face was flat and dour, with slits for eyes, a broad nose and lips, and thin, greasy, graying hair. Yanagisawa had married her only because she came from a rich, powerful clan and had a large dowry. He’d only bedded her to get an heir, and after Kikuko had shown early signs of retarded development, he’d avoided touching his wife.

“Don’t bother your father. He’s busy.” His wife’s voice was soft and hoarse, like a rusty iron hinge creaking. She gently drew Kikuko away from Yanagisawa.

He disliked having her and Kikuko in his house. He’d only moved them in because their villa had been damaged by the Mount Fuji eruption two years ago. Before that he hadn’t seen Kikuko in almost ten years. When he’d discovered how beautiful she’d grown up to be, he’d realized that she might not be completely useless. As he strode past her, she stared vacantly at him. Saliva pooled at the corners of her smile. His wife beheld him with naked, miserable yearning. She was in love with him, Yanagisawa knew but didn’t care. His wife and daughter meant nothing to him. All his love, all his passion, were for Yoshisato, his absent son.

He hastened into the mansion, shouting, “Nakai- san !”

His chief retainer appeared in the corridor that led past offices where his staff worked. Yanagisawa spoke in a low, furtive voice. “Are there any new leads?”

Nakai was one of the few people Yanagisawa had told that Yoshisato was alive. The others were the troops searching for Yoshisato. “Not since that sighting in Kamakura last month that turned out to be false.”

Yanagisawa fought down despair. “Beat every bush in Japan for more leads. I have to find Yoshisato before the shogun dies and Lord Ienobu-”

A woman came hobbling toward him. Her brown kimono hung on her gaunt figure. It was Lady Someko, Yoshisato’s mother. She didn’t know that Yoshisato, her only child, was alive. Yanagisawa didn’t trust her to keep the secret. Once a beautiful woman, now devastated by Yoshisato’s death, she neglected her appearance. Her gray-streaked hair straggled around a face devoid of makeup. Her skin was waxy, her eyes set in dark hollows. As she neared Yanagisawa, he smelled her rank odor of urine, sweat, and dirty hair. She sucked in her cheeks and spat. A blob of saliva splattered on the front of Yanagisawa’s robe. She grinned, baring scummy teeth, then hobbled away.

Yanagisawa didn’t retaliate because she stirred a quagmire of pity and guilt in him. She’d hated him since the day twenty-three years ago when he’d stolen her from the husband she loved and made her his concubine. After she’d borne his son, he’d sent her away to an isolated villa. He’d ignored her and Yoshisato for seventeen years, then reentered her life and devised his scheme to put Yoshisato at the head of the regime. He and Lady Someko had become lovers again, even though she’d still hated him and her own desire for him. Now Lady Someko blamed him for the loss of Yoshisato.

She wasn’t entirely mistaken. If he hadn’t passed Yoshisato off as the shogun’s son-if he hadn’t made Yoshisato a political pawn-then Yoshisato would be safe with her now. Lady Someko had done everything possible to punish Yanagisawa. She’d yelled curses and insults; she’d thrown things at him. While making savage love to him in a futile attempt to conceive another child, she’d clawed and hit him. Yanagisawa still had the scars. Now she was so broken that spitting at him was all she could manage. He felt as if he deserved the abuse for letting her think Yoshisato was dead, for letting her suffer. It was fair retribution for what Yoshisato must be suffering at the hands of Lord Ienobu’s men.

If Yoshisato wasn’t already dead.

Lady Someko only lived in Yanagisawa’s house because she had nowhere else to go. But it wasn’t only pity or guilt that made him keep her with him; nor was it love or desire. They’d never loved each other, and he liked his sexual partners young and beautiful. Lady Someko was a connection to his son.

“Find Yoshisato,” he whispered urgently to Nakai. “Or you and I and everyone in this house are finished!”

Sano followed the guard to a room down the passage. Inside a samurai was arguing with another guard. Tomoe stood watching anxiously, her hands tucked inside the sleeves of her white robe.

“She’s my cousin.” His back to Sano, the samurai held a wicker hat in his gloved hand and gestured with it at Tomoe. His proud posture made him seem taller than his average height. His copper-colored, padded silk cloak was damp from the snow. He wore two swords with elaborate gold inlays at his waist. “I’m the head of our clan. She’s under my protection.”

“Who are you?” Sano asked.

The samurai turned. He bore a disconcerting resemblance to the shogun. If one shaved about thirty-five years off the shogun’s age, and gave him a backbone, this man would be the result. Sano recognized him. “Honorable Lord Tokugawa Yoshimune.”

“Greetings, Sano- san. ” Lord Yoshimune’s speech was confident instead of hesitant like the shogun’s, his refined features firmly set instead of slack. He wasn’t handsome, but his eyes had a hard, clear look of intelligence that made him attractive.

As they exchanged bows, Sano recalled that Yoshimune was a second cousin to the shogun and Lord Ienobu. He belonged to the Tokugawa branch clan that ruled Kii Province, a rich yet troubled agricultural region. He’d become the daimyo of it at the young age of twenty-one, after his father and elder brothers died. His clan had been in debt to the government for many years and still owed a fortune in tributes, and two years ago a tsunami had destroyed villages and killed many people in his province. Yoshimune had taken strong measures to help the survivors, trim expenses, and reduce the debt. With a growing reputation as an expert in finance and administration, he was spoken of as a new player on the political scene.

“The guards outside told me you were investigating the attack,” Yoshimune said.

“How did you get past them?” Sano asked.

“I convinced them that letting me in would cause less trouble than trying to keep me out.” Yoshimune said with a brash, youthful grin, “I brought some of my army along. That usually opens doors.”

“I didn’t know Tomoe was your cousin,” Sano said.

“Third cousin. She’s been a concubine since last year.”

Noble families, Tokugawa branch clans included, sent their girls to the palace on the off chance that the shogun would father a son on them. A son eligible to inherit the regime would make the sacrifice worthwhile.

“Would you have treated Tomoe more kindly if you’d known she was my cousin?” Hostility tightened Yoshimune’s expression. “I came as soon as I heard the news about the shogun and you’d already broken down a door and terrified her. I’m taking her home with me.” He turned to Tomoe. She smiled gratefully at him. His manner turned gentle. “Put on some warm clothes. It’s cold outside.”

Tomoe sidled to a cupboard and took out a cloak and sandals. Sano blocked the door. “She’s not leaving.”

“You can’t seriously believe she stabbed the shogun?”

“She doesn’t have an alibi, and she wouldn’t explain why she was taking a bath in the middle of the night.”

Tomoe stood on tiptoe to whisper in Yoshimune’s ear. As he listened, his hand clasped her waist in a gesture more intimate than a man of his station would normally use toward a younger, distant, female relative. He conveyed her words to Sano. “She can’t take baths while the other concubines are around. They hold her head under the water. Plain girls like to pick on the pretty one.” He asked Tomoe, “Why didn’t you tell me?”