22
I couldn’t tell Midori or Lady Keisho-in everything the Dragon King did because I don’t want to frighten them,” Reiko said to Lady Yanagisawa. “But I’ll tell you-if you can be brave enough to stand some bad news.”
“Yes. I can,” Lady Yanagisawa said eagerly, pleased that Reiko would confide in her, as she too seldom did.
It was early evening, and chill air crept into the prison. In the melancholy ocher light of sunset, Reiko and Lady Yanagisawa sat together in a corner, speaking in low tones while Midori and Keisho-in lay sleeping on the mattresses, covered by quilts. Mutters and shuffling noises came from guards stationed throughout the building. Birds cawed and flapped wildly in the trees outside; cicadas and crickets began their nocturnal dirge. A quickening breeze slapped waves against the base of the tower.
“I begged the Dragon King to let us go,” Reiko said, “and he refused. He wouldn’t even tell me where we are. When I asked why he’s holding us prisoners, he said he wanted revenge on someone he wouldn’t identify, for some reason I couldn’t understand. When I asked if he was going to kill us, he said he hoped not.”
“What did he mean?” Lady Yanagisawa said.
Reiko uttered a forlorn laugh. “I suppose that whether we live or die depends on his whim.”
Lady Yanagisawa experienced a dwindling hope of survival, yet their companionship eased her misery. She clasped Reiko’s hands. “If we must die, at least we’ll die together.”
She felt Reiko flinch, and sensed that her friend was still withholding information. “Was there something else that disturbed you?” she said, and not only because she wanted to know what else had happened between Reiko and the man who called himself the Dragon King.
Ever since she’d first laid eyes on Reiko almost four years ago, she’d wanted to know everything about her. Reiko epitomized all that Lady Yanagisawa lacked. Reiko was beautiful, while Lady Yanagisawa was ugly. Reiko had a husband who adored her; Lady Yanagisawa agonized in unrequited love for the chamberlain, who barely seemed aware that she existed. Reiko had a child who was as perfect as Kikuko was defective. Envy had turned Lady Yanagisawa’s interest in Reiko into an obsession.
Lady Yanagisawa had ordered her servants to find out from Reiko’s servants everything that Reiko did. When Reiko went out, Lady Yanagisawa had followed her at a distance, spying on her. Last winter she’d formed an acquaintance with Reiko that permitted welcome opportunities to learn about her. Whenever she visited Reiko, she sneaked around the house and rummaged through Reiko’s possessions. She memorized things Reiko said. She loved Reiko with an ardor that nearly equaled what she felt for her husband and daughter.
Yet deep within her smoldered a volcano of jealousy, fueled by anger that Reiko should have so much, and she so little. She bitterly resented that Reiko didn’t value their friendship as much as she did; at the same time, she cherished a vague idea that if they grew close enough, some of Reiko’s good fortune would magically transfer to her.
“The Dragon King behaved so weirdly,” Reiko said with a shiver. She told how the Dragon King had stared at her, prowled around her, and talked in riddles. “He frightens me as much because I can’t understand him as because he and his men murdered our entourage. The most I can figure out is that his reason for kidnapping us has something to do with a woman he once knew. It seems that her name was Anemone, and that I resemble her.”
As she described how he’d given her a banquet, raged at her, and recited erotic poetry, Reiko slipped her hands from Lady Yanagisawa’s grasp and twisted them together. Her eyelids lowered; her throat contracted. “Then he made improper advances toward me.”
Her tone and expression conveyed the fear, disgust, and anger of a woman threatened by an assault on the virtue that society required of her. Lady Yanagisawa burned with outrage at the Dragon King. Yet although she wanted to kill him for upsetting her friend, her internal forces shifted with a queasy sensation, as if she’d suddenly spun around to behold a different view. Even while trapped in the middle of nowhere, Reiko was special. Her beauty set her apart from the other women. She had attracted the Dragon King, who’d given them better treatment because of her. He cared nothing for Lady Yanagisawa and hadn’t summoned her, even though she outranked Reiko. Lady Yanagisawa wouldn’t have wanted him to, but a perverse resentment stabbed her pride.
Would she never be allowed to forget that men desired Reiko and not her? Must circumstances always force her to remember that Reiko, not she, possessed the qualities that could win a husband’s love?
Even now, with the threat of death menacing them all, her jealousy toward Reiko surged hot and turbulent within Lady Yanagisawa. She bowed her head, pressed her hands against her temples, and felt the blood throb under the skin.
“I never expected this,” she muttered.
“Neither did I,” Reiko said, obviously interpreting the comment as a response to her story and unaware of the direction that Lady Yanagisawa’s thoughts had taken. “The Dragon King stopped short of ravishing me,” she continued, “but what about next time? If no one rescues us first, what then?”
Reiko paced the prison, wringing her hands. “He’ll take me, while his men watch. If I resist, they’ll kill me-and punish you, Midori, and Lady Keisho-in.” Anger flamed in Reiko’s eyes. “I hate being so helpless!”
Pity for Reiko abated Lady Yanagisawa’s other emotions. She rose, moved behind Reiko, and lay a consoling hand on her shoulder. “There must be something we can do to escape.”
Reiko whirled, turning a fierce gaze on Lady Yanagisawa. “Such as what?” she demanded. While Lady Yanagisawa stood mute, at a loss for answers, Reiko said, “Shall we break down the door and overpower the guards with our bare hands?” She pantomimed the actions. “Shall we walk across the lake and back to Edo Castle before the Dragon King’s troops can catch us?”
Lady Yanagisawa shrank from Reiko’s sarcasm. “I don’t know what to suggest,” she murmured. “I wish I did.” She was hurt that the friend she loved should lash out at her, and beneath the hurt, the tide of her jealousy rose. Yet she hastened to appease Reiko, whose friendship she dreaded to lose. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. Please forgive me.”
“It’s I who should apologize,” Reiko said, equally contrite. Midori stirred, Keisho-in mumbled in her sleep, and Reiko lowered her voice: “I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you.”
They clasped hands. Lady Yanagisawa tried to believe that Reiko wanted to placate her because they needed each other, but the memory of their children and the pond in Reiko’s garden on a day last winter nagged at Lady Yanagisawa. Had Reiko remembered that Lady Yanagisawa had the power to hurt her?
“Desperation is no excuse for rudeness,” Reiko said. “Quarreling among ourselves does no good.” She sighed, rubbed her forehead as if it ached, and resumed prowling about the room. “But how am I to protect myself from the Dragon King? He has swords; I have no weapons. He has an army, and we’re four lone women. All the strength is on his side, all the weakness on mine.”
“But you are so clever,” Lady Yanagisawa murmured. She knew that Reiko helped Sano with his work, which endeared her to him as much as did her beauty, charm, and the perfect son she’d borne. “Surely you can outwit the Dragon King.”
Reiko halted her steps, and a thoughtful look narrowed her eyes. A ray of dying golden sunlight streaming through the roof illuminated her features as she motioned Lady Yanagisawa to follow her to the side of the room farthest from the door.
“The Dragon King does have one weakness,” Reiko said in a conspiratorial whisper that the guards wouldn’t overhear. “Desire for a woman can make a man vulnerable and careless. Maybe I can use his feelings for me as a weapon against him.” Animated by hope, Reiko said, “Maybe I can trick him into setting us free.”