BORN OF WIND
The letter arrived at dawn.
Even from a distance, Yumi recognized her brother’s seal. The sight caused her heart to leap from her chest. Tsuneoki never sent messages to her okiya in Hanami. Since the day she first came to Inako, his favorite thing to say to her was this: It’s too much of a risk. Tsuneoki did not want anyone associating Yumi with any member of the Black Clan. Years ago, they’d devised an intricate way of communicating through symbols. Small letters marked with a specific seal, left in specific places to convey specific meanings.
But this morning Tsuneoki had written to her directly.
As soon as her trusted maidservant, Kirin, took hold of the folded piece of washi, Yumi hurried to the young woman’s side. Kirin’s nose was wrinkled, the freckles sprinkled across it distinct.
“My lady?” she said under her breath. “Why would Lord Tsune—”
Yumi held a finger to her lips. Without a word, she took the letter from Kirin’s hands and made her way toward her private chambers, so that she could read Tsuneoki’s message without the chance of anyone seeing its contents. Inako had always been a city that traded on secrets, and it was foolish to take any risks. Just as her brother always said.
As the thought crossed Yumi’s mind, bitter amusement curled in her throat. Tsuneoki’s words had found purchase, despite her many attempts to disregard them. It was true her brother had been successful in some ways.
Yumi’s gaze hardened. But not in all.
She tore through the seal securing the folded washi. The image of overlapped bear claws split in two beneath her fingers. The letter within was short, the scrawl hurried. Dismay crossed her features first. Then fear, followed by fury.
Her brother and his men had been discovered. Their safe haven had been put to flame, and a third of their ranks had perished in the ensuing onslaught. Ōkami had sacrificed himself to spare the rest of the Black Clan. At this moment, he was bound in chains, being led toward the imperial city by Prince Raiden and the Dragon of Kai.
Yumi’s eyes narrowed, a renewed flare of anger cutting deeply through her chest.
Only two days ago, she’d learned disturbing things about Hattori Kenshin. Whispers passing among the nobility. A missive—signed with the symbol of a fox—suggesting he was responsible for the deaths of innocents in Jukai forest. Of people Yumi had laughed alongside and known since childhood. Since . . . before she and her family had lost everything.
Her eyes passed over Tsuneoki’s scrawl again.
Prince Raiden and Lord Kenshin were bringing Ōkami to Inako. Undoubtedly this was for the purpose of putting the son of Takeda Shingen on display. Yumi would not have been surprised to learn they intended to make a spectacle of his death. Such a show of might would hold even more meaning now.
For Inako had become an imperial city in mourning.
Yesterday the word had spread through the streets like a fire through an oil slick. The emperor had died, under suspicious circumstances. His wife had found his lifeless body floating in a pond beside the moon-viewing pavilion.
In the next breath, Minamoto Roku ascended the Chrysanthemum Throne.
Yumi breathed deeply. She crumpled Tsuneoki’s letter in her fist. Blinked hard to clear her thoughts. Too much had taken place recently. There were so many things with which to worry herself. So many things that could go wrong and upend the life her brother had painstakingly constructed for her. A life apart from violence.
As a celebrated maiko, Yumi had been granted many opportunities—the kind most women at the highest echelons of the imperial court would long to have. Freedoms were afforded to the girls in her situation.
But Yumi lived in a nothing but a gilded cage. Even if she was allowed access to books and knowledge forbidden to most women—even if she was allowed to laugh and speak and comport herself in venues most women were never granted the opportunity to see—it did not change the painful truth: once her feet left the vaunted ground of Hanami, she was nothing more than a pretty girl, to be used and discarded at a man’s whim.
Even in Hanami, there were times she knew she could not escape this fact. The highest goal of any geiko was to find a wealthy benefactor. In the end—even with all her freedoms—Yumi would always be beholden to a man.
Anger simmered behind her heart.
She needed a way to take meaningful action, however small. If Yumi were to ask her brother how she could help, Tsuneoki would smile as though he were indulging her. He did not wish to involve Yumi in most of his undertakings, beyond the risks she already took. Her position as one of the most sought-after maiko in all of Hanami afforded her a way to obtain valuable information. Perhaps it was even one of the reasons Tsuneoki had first brought her to Hanami. For the last two years, she’d quietly passed along any news of note. Which advisor met with which warlord in secret. Which lady of the court dawdled near the barracks of the imperial guard. Which daimyo paid for information on happenings far beyond his purview.
But it was not enough for Yumi. Not anymore.
She was tired of living like a sheltered bird, unable to truly soar.
Behind her, Kirin drew the sliding doors shut with a snick. Yumi turned to meet her maidservant’s steady appraisal.
“My lady?” Kirin frowned. “Your face has lost all color.”
Yumi sighed. A glance in the mirror nearby indicated the truth of Kirin’s words. “I know.”
“May I bring you something? Tea, perhaps? A bowl of broth?”
Yumi shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”
A tentative expression passed across Kirin’s features. “It pains me to see you so troubled, my lady. What can I do?”
“I wish I knew.”
Kirin nodded. Without a word, the maidservant made her way toward the small tansu chest positioned in the corner of Yumi’s personal chamber. From its confines, she unearthed a set of folded garments and brought them to her mistress.
“Perhaps you should take in the morning from above, my lady,” Kirin said. “A change in perspective can often bring about a measure of clarity.” The maidservant’s eyes sparkled in their centers, a cheeky light taking shape.
A slow smile curved across Yumi’s face. Kirin was right.
She needed to fly. To feel free, like the wind, if even for only a moment.
* * *
Yumi dashed across the curved tiled roof. The arches of her sandaled feet gripped the baked clay surfaces. She stopped once she reached the edge of the roofline. Then—before anyone could look up—she crouched atop the tile.
Her heart pounded against the smooth clay, exhilaration coursing through her veins. She took in the sight below of the crowd milling about in the main square of the market. Somber faces traipsed about the space. The air above them felt restrained. Hushed.