He’d fallen in love with her while she was still married to Ryōzen. The police had never caught Ryōzen’s killer; they couldn’t find anyone with reason to wish him dead. Left Minister Konoe could have stolen Kozeri from Ryōzen by simply ordering them to divorce and commanding her to marry him; thus, no one had suspected Konoe of the murder, even though he benefited by her widowhood. But Kozeri knew his jealous nature. He wouldn’t have wanted her first husband around as a rival for her love, so he’d “committed a heinous act.”

Left Minister Konoe had murdered Ryōzen.

Now the four hundred breaths ended. The abbess began to chant: “Namu Amida Butsu. Namu Amida Butsu.”

“Namu Amida Butsu,” Kozeri repeated along with the other nuns. Their voices rang with joyous conviction; hers sounded hollow as she remembered the horror of her discovery, and the confusion that followed. Nobody would believe her if she accused Konoe of murder; he was too important and respected. The Imperial Court wouldn’t let her go to the police. Her family wouldn’t risk Konoe’s disapproval by taking her side. Kozeri must hide her emotions and keep peace with the left minister.

But nothing she said or did pleased him. He grew more brutal in his efforts to penetrate her, and he watched her ever more closely. Then, shortly before their first anniversary, Kozeri’s samisen teacher died. The new one who came to give her lessons was a courtier in his twenties, nicknamed “Saru”-Monkey-because of his talent for mimicry. With his lopsided smile and bulging eyes, he wasn’t handsome, but he was kind. Perceiving Kozeri’s unhappiness, Saru made her laugh at his imitations of animals and people. For the first time since Ryōzen’s death, Kozeri found pleasure in life. She had a friend.

Then one evening Konoe stormed into her chamber, his face livid with rage. He grabbed Kozeri and threw her against the wall.

“Adulteress!” he yelled, slapping her face. “Dirty whore!”

Kozeri cried, “What are you talking about, husband?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” he said. “Every day you whisper and laugh with him. I know, because I’ve listened outside the door. He’s your lover. Don’t deny it!”

He meant Saru! Kozeri was shocked. She had no romantic interest in the music teacher. Besides, Saru was happily married. “No,” she protested.

“Liar!” Konoe kicked her stomach. She fell and curled up; he kicked her head. “I heard you two mocking me. I’ve thrown him and his family out of the palace. They’ll starve to death in the streets.”

Kozeri realized that her husband had eavesdropped on Saru’s caustic imitation of him. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “Please!”

His fists battered her. Blood poured from her nose. She screamed as Konoe ripped handfuls of hair from her head. Cursing, he picked up her samisen and beat her with it. At last he stood back, hateful triumph in his face.

“I trust you’ve learned your lesson,” he said.

Despair emboldened Kozeri. She said bitterly, “Why don’t you just kill me, the way you did Ryōzen?”

For a long, awful moment she and Konoe stared at each other. She saw the truth of her accusation in his eyes. Anger flared in them, and she braced herself for another attack. Then he shook his head, turned, and walked away.

Kozeri wept. When the tears subsided, a calm clarity settled upon her mind. She understood that Konoe meant to continue trying to force her to love him. His cruelty would worsen until eventually he lost control and killed her. Kozeri’s religious upbringing had taught her to accept fate; yearning for Ryōzen, she considered suicide to escape misery and hasten her reunion with him. But part of her didn’t want to die. Bruised, bloody, and aching, she packed a bundle of the new robes Konoe had given her. She fled to Kodai Temple, where her family had once taken refuge during a fire in the palace. The convent was a haven for maltreated women with religious leanings. The nuns took her in, accepting her wardrobe as a dowry. Kozeri imagined herself safe from the left minister forever.

A month later, Konoe burst into the convent, interrupting the novices’ prayers. “I’ve searched all over for you,” he shouted at Kozeri. “Now you’re coming home with me!” He would have grabbed her, had not monks overpowered him. As they dragged him out of the temple, he shrieked, “I’ll get you. You can’t hide!”

He came again and again, sending letters between visits. When the nuns begged for alms in the city, Konoe accosted her. Sometimes he pleaded, apologizing for his behavior. Often he threatened to kill her if she didn’t return to him. Sometimes Kozeri heard nothing from him for months; just when she began to believe he’d given up, he would reappear and the letters resume. In spite of her gentle nature, Kozeri hated the left minister. He’d destroyed her life, driven her from home and family. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? She longed for his death, and an end to her misery.

She’d gotten her wish. But now, worse troubles threatened. She was a suspect in Konoe’s murder; Sōsakan Sano’s questions had made it obvious. What if he found out how the left minister had treated her? Still, arrest wasn’t the only thing she feared from Sano. His coming to Kodai Temple had shattered the calm she’d achieved through prayer and meditation. He’d awakened old emotions, suppressed longings.

In seeking a religious life, Kozeri had fled not just the left minister. Because her second marriage had overshadowed the happy memory of her first, she’d wanted nothing more to do with men. The need for peace outweighed all other desires. For years she’d been satisfied with having food, shelter, her faith, and the other nuns for company. But Sano had awakened a response in her; desire for him had stirred Kozeri’s body to life. He’d aroused in her a powerful renewed need for the love of a man. She wanted to know Sano and continue the lovemaking they’d begun by the river today; yet although she longed to see him again, she dreaded the prospect.

“Now stand,” said the abbess, rising slowly. “Mouth shut, chin drawn in, spine straight. Keep breathing; look straight ahead. Clear vision equals a clear conscience.”

The nuns rose. Kozeri envisioned their consciences as clear water, hers as a dust storm. She possessed knowledge that could help Sano solve the case, but she also had dangerous secrets to keep. Telling the truth could jeopardize her life; love could destroy her hard-won peace. She’d not only lied to Sano, but this exercise she was performing had equipped her with a weapon that she’d used against him in self-defense. If he discovered the nature of the weapon, he would charge her with murder. Kozeri didn’t know what would come of their acquaintance, but his duty, and their mutual attraction, had ensured one outcome. Sano would be back.

Clad in a dressing gown, her freshly washed hair sleek and wet, Reiko walked from the bathchamber at Nijō Manor to her room and found that Sano had returned. He was seated on the floor, sorting through the boxes of papers from Left Minister Konoe’s office that Chamberlain Yanagisawa had just sent. He greeted her with a quick nod, then continued perusing documents.

“I was starting to worry about you,” Reiko said, kneeling beside him. Night had fallen; the inn’s guests had already retired. “Shall I order your dinner?”

“No, thank you,” Sano said, frowning at a letter in his hand. “I stopped at a food stall, so I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back.” Puzzled by his curt manner, Reiko said, “Guess what: I’ve learned something about the fern-leaf coins.” She described how she’d made inquiries and connected the coins to the Dazai gangster clan.

“That’s a good lead,” Sano said. He stopped his work and looked at her, yet Reiko would have appreciated a little more enthusiasm from him. “But Left Minister Konoe might have been spying on the Dazai for some purpose not connected to the imperial restoration plot, or his murder.”