Page 70 of Shadow of the Fox

“Excellent.” Masao smiled cheerfully. “I don’t understand why Iemon was so worried. Obviously you will do what you must to finish your mission for Lady Hanshou. So, Tatsumi-kun, what is the next step? Where is this person who knows the location of the scroll?”

“We don’t know,” I said, earning a puzzled frown from the courtier. “He was supposed to be at the Hayate shrine, but three days ago he was summoned to the Imperial Palace and disappeared.”

“Summoned to the palace? By whom?”

“Lady Satomi.”

“Oh? The emperor’s concubine?” Masao pressed his lips together, looking thoughtful. “There are rumors of her cruelty, but no more than most of the inner court. So, are you part of this little game as well, Lady Satomi? How very...interesting.” A sly expression crossed his face, before he shook it off and looked at me again. “A woman of Satomi’s station will be difficult to get to,” he said. “I assume you are going over the wall, but what then? How do you plan to discover what she knows?”

“There is an event at the palace tomorrow night—” I began, and Masao snapped his fingers together.

“Of course. The emperor’s Moon Viewing party, how could I forget?” For a moment, he regarded me with an amused smile on his lips. “A shame you can’t attend the normal way, Tatsumi-kun. I can just see the ladies of the court eyeing you like a pack of ravenous wolves.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Master Masao.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Abruptly, Masao turned and pressed the end of his fan beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I went rigid as he peered at me, studying my face. “Ichiro and Iemon have probably never told you,” he murmured, “but did you know that you are extremely handsome, Tatsumi-kun? A shame they chose you to be the bearer of that cursed sword. Such wasted potential. Of course, in the court, the right clothes would make the difference, but still.” His eyes gleamed as he lowered the fan and stepped back, smiling in a way that caused a flutter of trepidation to go through my stomach. “Well, do your best, demonslayer. And good luck with Lady Satomi. I fear you might find the emperor’s court more challenging than you think.”

28

The Moon Viewing Party

Ididn’t quite recognize the girl in the reflection.

I knew her face. That was the only thing that was familiar. Everything else—hair, makeup, clothing—seemed foreign and strange.

I stood in the shrine maiden’s room, doors and windows firmly shut with strict orders that we not be disturbed, and stared at the kitsune in the small oval mirror above her dresser. The layered red-and-white robe, trimmed in gold and patterned with beautiful designs, was easily the most elegant thing I had ever worn. It was also heavy, nearly covered my toes and was quite cumbersome, especially the wide, billowy sleeves. My hair had been combed, trimmed and hung in a pleated braid down my back, tied with red-and-gold silk ribbons. A tall peaked cap sat atop my head behind my pointed fox ears; I pinned them back in distaste, and the cap toppled off and fell to the floor.

Reika sighed. “You can’t do that when you’re at the palace,” she chided, picking the cap off the tatami mats and placing it on my head again. “If you’re going to fool everyone into thinking you’re a respected onmyoji, you can’t be twitching at every little thing.”

“These robes are so heavy,” I said, wrinkling my nose. I could feel my tail beneath the fabric, pressed against the backs of my legs, and I shifted uncomfortably. At least the cumbersome fabric concealed the scroll, still hidden in the furoshiki, quite well. “I’m going to be tripping over my own feet every few steps. Can’t I just make my normal clothes look like this?”

“Fox magic is nothing but illusion and trickery,” the miko returned, the disdain in her voice reminding me of Denga-san. “If you are discovered to be half yokai within the Imperial Palace, not only will you be executed, everyone associated with you will be punished, as well. The ronin, the noble and the Kage demonslayer—all could be killed, because you didn’t want to be uncomfortable for a night. Do you really want to risk that?”

I sniffed. “Can I at least get some geta clogs so I don’t trip and fall on my face in front of the entire Imperial court?”

She grimaced. “I can raise the hem a couple inches, just give me a minute.”

She knelt beside me and began tugging on the fabric, muttering at me to hold still. As I looked in the mirror again, my thoughts wandered. After Tatsumi had departed last night, disappearing into the city with his clansmen, Reika had kindly provided rooms for me and Okame. Daisuke had left as well, returning to his family’s estate in the Sun district, though he’d promised to return the next evening to escort us to the palace. This afternoon, Reika had sent a few mikos out to find attire suitable for an onmyoji “of my station,” and had firmly suggested that Okame should head to the marketplace for an outfit as well; one that didn’t scream “filthy ronin dog.” The ronin had scoffed at first, but the shrine maiden insisted she wasn’t going to jeopardize our mission because of his stupid pride, and practically chased him out of the shrine, threatening to send the shrine guardian after him if he didn’t leave. After the ronin finally heeded her orders, she turned her attention to me.

“What are the names of the last five emperors?” Reika demanded, still kneeling at the hem of my robes. I stifled a groan. All morning, she had lectured me about the ways of the court: their customs, what was socially acceptable and what behaviors would scream “uncouth peasant.” The amount of details to remember when simply offering a bow made my head spin, as was the list of topics that were deemed unnacceptable for this time of year. When asked a question, it was considered rude to simply say yes or no; better to reply with poem and verse, using as many similies and flowery phrases as possible.

“Um...” I hedged, knowing Reika was expecting an answer. An onmyoji of my station, she’d explained earlier, would certainly know the history of Iwagoto’s royal family. “Taiyo no Genjiro, Taiyo no Eiichi, Taiyo no Fujikata, Taiyo no...um...Kintaro?”

“Now you’re just guessing,” the shrine maiden said. “And you cannot say ‘um’ or ‘ano’ in the imperial court. Peasants and commoners stutter. Nobles never do.”

With a sigh, I shifted my weight, earning atchof displeasure from the shrine maiden. Abruptly, I missed Tatsumi; though he never said much, his quiet presence could always be felt. I wondered where he was now, what he was doing. I hoped I would see him again, that he would meet us in the palace like he promised. I also hoped I wouldn’t put a foot in my mouth at the imperial court and expose us all.

“There,” Reika said, and rose, brushing off her knees. “I think you’re as ready as you’ll ever be.” Stepping back, she crossed her arms and regarded me with a critical eye, before nodding once. “Good enough. You look like an onmyoji, on the surface at least. Now, it’s almost sundown, and I must prepare myself, as well. Why don’t you go and see if the ronin has made it back yet? And please, do not get dirty before we even reach the palace.”

Trying not to step on the bottom of my robes, I walked outside.

Okame was leaning against the railing when I stepped onto the veranda, and his brows shot up as he saw me.“Sugoi,”he exclaimed quietly, pushing himself off the post. “Yumeko-chan, you look...different. I didn’t even recognize you.”

I grinned at him. “You as well, Okame.” The ronin had shaved, his goatee trim and neat instead of bristling over his chin, and his reddish-brown hair pulled behind him in a tight ponytail. His white hakama and brown haori jacket weren’t fancy, but they were new and clean and well fitted. He didn’t exactly look like a noble, but he didn’t appear to be an aimlessly wandering ronin, either. “You look almost respectable.”

“Bite your tongue,” he retorted, and looked away, a tinge creeping up his neck. “I can’t believe I have to parade around the emperor’s palace pretending to be a samurai with a bunch of stuck-up aristocrats.”

I cocked my head. “Why do you hate the samurai so much, Okame-san?” I asked. “Tatsumi said that ronin were samurai at one point, before they lost their master. What happened to yours?”

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