Yumi continued watching as the people of Inako went about their day, purchasing wares, selecting fruits, or stopping to admire a puppet show performed as a distraction for children. A part of her longed to join them. Of late, there had been several occasions when she wanted to be one among many, able to move about without judgment or notice. But if Yumi ventured into the square dressed as a maiko, she would catch unwanted stares. Whispers would follow in her wake. By design, women such as she were not afforded chances to move among the city’s denizens.
Yumi took a deep breath. Held it in her lungs until she thought they would burst. Then exhaled with care. As soon as a sense of calm descended on her, the contents of a new puppet show drew her attention.
It was meant to celebrate the life of Minamoto Masaru, the recently fallen emperor. Such performances were not unusual. There were likely to be many shows of all sorts intended to pay homage to their late heavenly sovereign. He had perished less than two days ago, and—true to form—already the people were being fed lies about him. Frustration barreled up Yumi’s throat as she considered the small children, their attention rapt, listening to tales of the emperor’s greatest achievements.
A part of Yumi wished to take action. Wished to splash water on the puppets or drop rotten food onto the men behind the stage, who fed these innocent minds such trash.
But it was likely not their fault. These men had likely been fed the same falsehoods for most of their lives. It was treasonous to see the emperor in anything but a godly light.
And today was not the day for Yumi to draw unnecessary attention.
Yumi braced herself for the inevitable moment when the puppet masters would recall how the great emperor routed traitors from his midst. Punished those who dared to challenge him.
Takeda Shingen and Asano Naganori.
Ōkami’s father. Yumi’s father.
Sorrow was a difficult emotion for Yumi to silence. It was getting harder for her to conjure images of her father’s face. Her mother—who now lived the life of a monk in a village far from the imperial city, tending to a garden outside a shrine—trembled whenever Yumi asked her to speak about him. Her mother had lost so much, and the stately woman’s temperament had frayed under the strain of all she’d had to endure. Her husband’s supposed treachery. A son who’d strayed from his intended path.
A daughter who served the same nobles who’d turned their backs on the Asano clan.
Yumi was distracted from her thoughts by a new puppet wandering from the shadows, clearly meant to depict Ōkami’s father, the crest of the Takeda clan flashing above its brow. The children laughed at his oafishness. Then they cackled more when the puppet representing Asano Naganori passed gas that fanned the entirety of the front row in attendance.
Yumi turned from the laughter. The sort of laughter that should have brought with it a smile. She’d always loved the sound of a child’s joy. It was the kind that remained pure and filled with wonder.
Today it felt like ash on her tongue.
Wishing to prevent herself from experiencing any further pain, Yumi stood and moved along the ridgeline. She started slowly, then ratcheted her movements to a sprint. When she neared the ledge, she leapt across the yawning space before tucking her body into a roll. Still she did not stop. Her hair came undone around her face, the tiles flew past her in a blur, but her heart and mind moved as one, spurred onward.
She ran over the rooftops—flying above the city—until she neared her intended destination.
When Yumi came to a halt, her feet almost slid from under her. The sudden wash of fear sent another spark of energy through her blood. This was as close as she’d ever dared to come to Heian Castle. Just across the way were the first of the barracks housing the imperial guards. In the distance—the sun beaming down on its seven gabled rooftops—stood the heart of the empire.
Briefly Yumi wondered if there had ever been a moment in the late emperor’s life in which he’d regretted the events of his past. Her father had been one of his closest friends from childhood. He, the emperor, and Takeda Shingen had all fought alongside each other. Did he ever regret bringing about the deaths of his friends?
Did he ever wonder what would have happened if he’d listened to their advice?
Her brow furrowed at the thought. It didn’t matter if he’d felt any remorse. These men—these friends—were all dead now. All before their times.
In the end, everyone would follow the same path.
The time Yumi had left was what mattered most. She was tired of being Tsuneoki’s messenger. Tired of being nothing more than a pretty face.
But mostly she was tired of being told what to do. A rational part of her knew there was little she could achieve on her own. But she’d watched the people of Inako for years, concealed high above them. She’d listened to what ailed them. She’d smiled at their hopes. She’d tucked away their fears. And even if Yumi knew she was a drop in an ocean, she also knew the smallest stone rolling down a mountain could bring about an avalanche.
Tomorrow, when the emperor’s funeral procession began its march through the city streets, Yumi would start making her own decisions.
She stood tall along the roofline. Glared at the golden rooftop of the imperial castle.
The men inside did not know who she was now. But soon they would never forget.
Her name was Asano Yumi.
And any man—or woman—who stood in her way did so at their own peril.