She thanked him but did not ask any more. She felt she had heard too much already. “Loyalty to the Heron”-they could only be supporters of Shigeru.

Naomi rose early the next morning and arrived in the capital shortly after midday. She had made this journey many times now, yet she could never quite dispel the feeling of dread that the sight of Iida’s black-walled castle inspired in her. It dominated the town, the sheer walls rising from the moat, their reflection shimmering in the slow greenish water of the river. A narrow street led in a zigzag pattern to the main bridge. Here, even though she was a frequent visitor and already known to the guards, she and Sachie had to descend from the palanquins while they were thoroughly searched-though, Naomi thought resentfully, only the smallest and most loose-limbed assassin could have concealed himself there.

The search was insulting, yet Iida’s suspicions were well founded: many longed to see him dead-indeed, as she had said to Shigeru, she would kill him herself if she could. But she put all such thoughts from her and waited impassively and calmly until she was permitted to proceed.

She entered the palanquin again and the porters walked through the main bailey to the south bailey where Iida’s residence was built. Here she climbed out once more, to be met by two of Lady Iida’s companions. The porters and her men returned over the bridge to the town, and she and Sachie and their two maids followed the women through the residence gate, down the angled steps into the gardens, which extended away for a considerable distance as far as the riverbank.

The fragrance of flowers was everywhere: the purple irises around the stream that flowed through the gardens were just beginning to bloom, and heavy blossoms of wisteria hung like icicles from the pavilion roof.

Naomi and Sachie waited while the maids undid their sandals and brought water to wash their feet, then stepped up onto the polished wood veranda. It was newly constructed and ran around the entire residence, and as their feet trod over it, it responded with little cries like birds.

“What is it?” Sachie said in wonderment to one of the maids.

“Lord Iida had it constructed this year,” she whispered quietly. “It is a marvel, isn’t it? Not even a cat can cross it without setting it singing. We call it the nightingale floor.”

“I have never heard of such a thing before,” Naomi said, her heart sinking further. Surely Iida had made himself invulnerable.

The residence was decorated in a sumptuous style, gold leaf covering the beams of the ceiling and picking out the triple oak leaf on the bosses on the walls. The floors of the passages were all polished cypress, and the walls were decorated with flamboyant paintings of tigers, peacocks, and other exotic animals and birds.

They progressed in silence into the deepest recesses of the residence, into the women’s rooms. Here the decorations were more restrained, delicate flowers and fish replacing the animals. Naomi was shown to the room she usually occupied; the boxes and baskets that contained her clothes, gifts for Lady Iida, new robes and books for Mariko, were taken away to the storehouse, Sachie going with them to oversee the unpacking, and tea was brought in elegant pale green bowls.

Naomi drank it gladly, for the afternoon was becoming very warm, and sat trying to compose herself.

Sachie returned with Mariko. The girl greeted her mother formally, bowing deeply, then came closer into Naomi’s arms. She felt as always the rush of relief, almost like the gush of milk into the breast, that her child was alive, safe, close enough for her to hold, stroke the hair back from her forehead, gaze into her eyes, smell her sweet breath.

“Let me look at you,” she exclaimed. “You are growing up so fast. You look pale. Are you well?”

“I have been quite well; I had a cold last month and the cough persisted. I am better now that winter is finally over. But Mother also looks a little pale; you have not been ill?”

“No, it is just that I am tired from the journey. And of course, so moved by seeing you.”

Mariko smiled as her eyes brightened with tears.

“How long will Mother stay?”

“Not long, this time, I’m afraid.” She saw Mariko struggle to hide her disappointment. “I have things to do back in Maruyama,” she explained, and she felt her womb clench in fear.

“I hoped you would stay until the plum rains are over. It is so dreary here when it rains every day.”

“I must leave before they begin,” Naomi said. “They must not delay me.”

For the plum rains might last five or six weeks, and she would have to spend that time among the household women, who knew every detail of each other’s lives, and when each one had to be secluded because of her monthly bleeding, a custom practiced by the Tohan. These women had so little to occupy them that they would study her day and night; she feared their boredom and their malice.

“Sachie has brought more books for you,” she said briskly. “You will have plenty to occupy yourself with while you are confined indoors by the rain. But tell me your news. How is Lady Iida?”

“She was very sick in the winter with an inflammation of the lungs. I was afraid for her.” Mariko’s voice fell to a whisper. “Her women say that if she were to die, Lord Iida would have to make up his mind between you and me.”

“But she is, thank Heaven, still alive, and we hope will have many years of health. How is her little boy? Her father must be proud of him.”

Mariko lowered her eyes. “Unfortunately, he is a delicate child. He does not take to the sword and is afraid of horses. He is six years old now. Other boys his age are already receiving warrior’s training, but he clings to his mother and his nurse.”

“It’s sad; I cannot imagine Lord Iida is patient with him.”

“No, the boy is more terrified of his father than of anything else.”

Naomi met the child, Katsu, later when she joined Lady Iida for the evening meal. His nurse brought the little boy in, but he cried and whined and was soon taken away. He did not seem to be very intelligent and certainly was neither confident nor courageous.

She pitied the child and his mother. All men expected their wives to give them sons, but how often were those sons a disappointment or a threat! Iida would make life a torment for them both. She tried not to think how this in turn affected her own situation. If only Iida were happily married with dozens of sons. His dissatisfaction led him to consider changing wives and directed his attention more intensely on her. But she did not want even to consider these matters lest her own hopes and fears undermine her composure and give her away.

The next morning she was summoned to Iida’s presence and met outside by a man who she knew to be one of his favorites.

“Lord Abe,” she greeted him, though she thought that to call him “lord” was flattering him, for Iida honored him far above his family’s rank.

His bow was perfunctory; she suspected that like most of the Eastern warriors, he had little respect for the Maruyama tradition and saw her as an aberration that should be removed as speedily as possible.

How swift would be her fall, how great her humiliation if anyone knew about the child. She would have to take her own life; Iida would marry her daughter, and Maruyama would pass to the Tohan. But to kill myself would mean I had given up hope, she told herself, and I have not yet, not yet. I will do anything in my power to see Iida overthrown, Shigeru restored, and to live with him as his wife. And there will be no more cruelty, no more torture, no more hostages.

With renewed resolve to withstand his tyranny, she stepped into the receiving room and dropped to her knees, retreating into herself, hiding her hatred of him behind the graceful form and appealing demeanor of a beautiful woman.