“Yes, you look beautiful,” Reiko said. The kimono was a work of art, although Asagao would benefit from a darker color and simpler pattern to make her look slimmer.

“Oh, thank you! You’re so kind.” Asagao preened. Beckoning to her audience, she called, “Come meet our guest from Edo.” Courtiers and ladies-in-waiting flocked around Reiko, smiling, bowing, and murmuring greetings while Asagao performed introductions. Asagao laid a proprietary hand upon the arm of the actor who’d played her lover onstage. “This is Lord Gojo. He’s one of the emperor’s secretaries.”

The two exchanged a smiling, intimate glance. Then Asagao widened her eyes and exclaimed, “I’ve just had the most marvelous idea. Lady Sano must take a part in our play!”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Horrified, Reiko backed away.

The group greeted Asagao’s idea with enthusiasm. Lord Gojo said, “She can be the heroine’s best friend.”

“But I don’t know the lines,” Reiko protested, desperate to avoid making a spectacle of herself.

“That doesn’t matter,” Asagao said. “You can read them from the script for now, and memorize them later.” She thrust out her lower lip, her expression reproachful. “You won’t disappoint us, will you?”

The petulant whine in Asagao’s voice warned Reiko that Asagao was quick to take offense at anyone who denied her wishes. Reiko understood that if she refused to act, the emperor’s consort would cut short their visit and she would lose her chance to ask questions about the murder.

“Of course I couldn’t disappoint you,” Reiko said with forced sincerity. “I’d be honored to act in your play.”

“Wonderful!” Asagao laughed and clapped her hands, her good humor restored. Everyone else cheered. Asagao critically surveyed Reiko’s simple, knotted hairdo and sea-blue silk kimono printed with pale green ivy leaves. “We’ll have to find a costume for you later, but let’s give your face and hair some glamour. Come along!”

Asagao and her ladies-in-waiting took Reiko to a corner of the courtyard, where a large parasol shaded a table that held a mirror, brushes, combs, hair ornaments, and jars of makeup.

“Bring us some wine, Gojo-san,” called Lady Asagao, “then go and prepare the stage for the first scene.”

The young man complied. Two ladies-in-waiting began restyling Reiko’s hair, while the others drank wine and offered suggestions. Reiko sipped the sweet plum liquor, hoping it would ease her embarrassment. Asagao smeared a mixture of grease and white rice powder on Reiko’s face.

“You must think we’re frivolous to spend our time this way,” Asagao said, pausing to gulp wine from her cup, “but there’s so little else to do here, and life gets terribly dull.”

Reiko tried not to wince as the warm, thick makeup coated her skin, or recoil from the too-intimate contact with her new acquaintances. “I would have thought that the shocking incident in the Pond Garden offered some diversion.”

Asagao looked perplexed; then her face cleared. “Oh, you mean the death of Left Minister Konoe.” She dismissed the murder with a flick of her fingers. “That was ages ago. The excitement is past. You probably think I’m callous for having fun during the mourning period, but I refuse to suffer months of gloom and boredom, even though my father says I should.”

She added, “My father is Right Minister Ichijo.”

Reiko remembered that Ichijo was the man serving as intermediary in Sano’s relations with the Imperial Court, and that he’d become its chief official after the death of Konoe. Apparently, he had followed the ancient practice by which nobles achieved dominance over the throne: intermarriage with the imperial family.

“I see no reason to grieve for the left minister,” Asagao said, picking up a brush and applying pink tint around Reiko’s eyelids, “especially since I’m glad he’s dead.”

Her blunt admission hung in the air like a bad smell. The ladies-in-waiting suddenly became very busy refilling the wine cups and applying camellia oil to Reiko’s hair. Reiko was too startled to speak, but Asagao continued as if unaware of how her words might reflect upon her: “That horrible old tyrant! Do you know what he did to me?”

“No, what did he do?” Reiko said, hiding her eagerness.

“He decided I was spending too much money,” Asagao said, puffed up with indignation. “So he reduced my allowance. I was to have no new clothes or amusements for the rest of the year. I, the emperor’s consort, was to live like a pauper!”

“It must have been very unpleasant for you.” Reiko marveled at her luck in having a suspect so ready to volunteer information. She hinted, “I wouldn’t blame you if you had decided to take revenge against the left minister.”

“And that’s just what I did,” Asagao declared, swallowing another drink.

Her words had begun to slur, and her eyes had a glassy shine. Perhaps intoxication had loosened her tongue, Reiko thought, but Asagao seemed the kind of person who often neglected to think before she spoke. What a contrast between the emperor’s mother and his consort! The ladies-in-waiting were pulling Reiko’s hair upward and jabbing in pins, but Reiko, intent on Asagao, hardly noticed the pain in her scalp.

“First I went to my father, but he said there was nothing he could do; Left Minister Konoe outranked him.” Asagao applied rouge to Reiko’s cheeks with a sponge. “Then I complained to Tomohito. But Tomohito said I should go along with the left minister and stop wasting money.

“I begged. I cried. I was so angry! Why should he listen to a mere kuge official instead of me? Oh, how I hated the left minister for coming between us!” Asagao’s voice rose to a querulous pitch.

Reiko nodded and murmured sympathetically. “What did you do next?” she said, her heartbeat quickening with anticipation.

A moment passed in silence as Asagao dipped a small brush into red pigment, moved closer, and began painting Reiko’s lips, frowning in concentration. Her features, magnified by proximity, seemed stronger, rendering her less giddily feminine. Reiko stifled an urge to flinch. In Asagao’s veins ran the blood of ancestors who had ruled Japan from behind the emperor’s throne. To satisfy her appetite for power, might she have studied the martial arts in secret, exercising the spiritual energy that existed in every human, until she acquired the force of kiai?

Could the spirit cry have issued from that soft, sensuous mouth?

Asagao drew back, set down the brush, and drained her wine cup again. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, her expression sulky. “There was no way to get back at the old miser. When he died, I thanked the gods, because now my father is in charge, and he lets me have everything I want.”

Disappointment flooded Reiko. She chastised herself for expecting a confession. Lady Asagao might lack Lady Jokyōden’s intelligence; yet her vanity indicated an instinct for self-preservation. However, Reiko couldn’t quite picture Asagao as the killer. Despite her obvious antipathy toward the victim, Asagao appeared basically weak and flighty. It was easier to believe she had benefited from someone else’s crime. But Reiko couldn’t eliminate her as a suspect without establishing the important missing fact about Asagao.

“Did you see anything on the night of the murder that might reveal who killed the left minister?” Reiko asked.

“How could I have?” Asagao looked puzzled. “I was nowhere near the Pond Garden.”

“Oh? Where were you?” Reiko said casually.

Alarm leapt in Asagao’s eyes. Reiko heard a simultaneous intake of breath from the ladies-in-waiting. They sat frozen and stoic, heads bowed.

“I don’t remember. It was such a long time ago.” Asagao’s gaze skittered away from Reiko, then back again, bright with the need to convince. “Wait!” she cried. "I was in the summer pavilion, with my ladies-in-waiting. We were drinking wine and playing the samisen.” She looked to the other women, her expression demanding confirmation. “Weren’t we?”