News of the murder had reached the Large Interior-the women’s quarters of Edo Castle -and interrupted an afternoon party hosted by Lady Keisho-in, mother of the shogun.

Moments ago, Keisho-in, her ladies-in-waiting, friends, some of the shogun’s concubines, and their attendants had been talking, eating, and drinking while musicians played a flute and samisen. The news had sent Keisho-in rushing from her chamber to comfort the shogun; the musicians’ instruments lay abandoned amid forgotten plates of food. Women now huddled in nervous clusters around the bright, overheated room. Servants rushed in and out, bringing rumors that incited much whispered chatter:

“The shogun is so furious about his cousin’s murder that he won’t stop ranting and cursing.”

“He’s sworn to execute the murderer with his own hands!”

Sano’s wife, Lady Reiko, listened to the talk while holding her son, Masahiro. Not quite two years old, Masahiro didn’t understand why the women had suddenly lost interest in him. He squirmed in Reiko’s arms and whimpered, “Me want to go home!”

“Shh,” Reiko said, wanting to hear more news about the murder.

Her friend Midori, a lady-in-waiting to the shogun’s mother, hurried over to kneel beside Reiko. “Everyone says that the sōsakan-sama must find the killer fast,” Midori said, breathless with excitement. At age eighteen, she was girlishly pretty, dressed in a red kimono. “If he doesn’t-” Her dramatic pause and look of distress alluded to the persistent threat of death that shadowed Sano. “Oh, Reiko-san, how frightening! Can you help him?”

“Perhaps,” said Reiko.

Around her, the buzz continued: “The enemies of Lord Mitsuyoshi had better beware.” “Everyone in the bakufu is afraid they’ll be blamed for the murder and executed.”

Cuddling her son, Reiko listened to the rumors of intrigue, thinking how much she longed to be a part of it.

When she had married Sano, she’d persuaded him to let her help on his investigations instead of staying home as most wives of her class did. Sano had at first been reluctant to defy social convention, but he’d grown to appreciate Reiko’s unusual nature. She was the only child of Magistrate Ueda-one of two officials responsible for maintaining law and order in Edo -and her father had given her the education normally accorded a son. Reiko had spent her girlhood listening to trials in the Court of Justice, learning about crime, and although her sex restricted her freedom, it conferred advantages. Reiko could move easily through the insular world of women, where clues and witnesses often abounded, but male detectives couldn’t go. Her network of women associated with powerful samurai clans had provided crucial facts to Sano, and their unique partnership had nurtured a passionate love between them for three years of marriage.

Then had come the arson and triple murder at the Black Lotus Temple. Reiko had found herself and Sano on opposite sides of the case. The investigation had turned into a battle that had almost destroyed their marriage, and the repercussions still haunted Sano and Reiko.

Although they’d vowed to do better in the future, this was easier said than accomplished. They’d not worked together in three months because Reiko had avoided taking part in any new investigations. She had always valued her instincts, but the Black Lotus case had proved they could be wrong. She’d made up for her mistakes in the end, but she couldn’t forgive them or trust herself again; and she was afraid Sano no longer trusted her, although he’d never said so.

Now Reiko and Sano lived suspended in a state of mutual caution. Their marriage reminded Reiko of a bubble, enclosing them in a surface that was shiny and perfect, yet so fragile that the slightest touch could rupture it. She longed to work with Sano again, and sensed that Sano was no happier than she, but feared upsetting their tenuous equilibrium for the worse.

“I hope the investigation won’t take long,” Midori said, her expression worried. “Hirata-san and I won’t be able to marry until it’s over.”

Midori had been in love with Sano’s chief retainer for years, but Hirata hadn’t realized that she loved him and he loved her until recently. Having since declared their feelings for each other, they’d begun the process required to arrange their wedding.

“Just be patient,” Reiko soothed her friend. Masahiro keened, and she bounced him on her lap. “There’s no need to rush. You and Hirata-san have your whole lives to be together.”

Inconsolable, Midori chewed her thumbnail; her other fingers were already bitten raw. “I can’t wait,” she fretted. “We must marry soon. But Hirata-san’s parents weren’t very pleased when he told them he wished to marry me.” Midori’s round face was thinner, its usual rosy color turned pallid; her blissful glow had faded soon after she and Hirata had pledged their love. Her eyes were bright with anxiety instead of joy. “And my father wasn’t pleased when I asked him for a miai.”

A miai was the formal first meeting between a prospective bride and groom and their families. A ritual of exchanging gifts, negotiating a dowry, and eventually a wedding, would follow-if both families consented to the marriage.

“You know my husband has already arranged the miai,” Reiko said. Sano, acting as Hirata’s go-between, had convinced both families to attend.

“But it’s scheduled for tomorrow. What if Hirata-san is so busy with the murder investigation that he can’t go?” Midori wailed. “What if his family doesn’t want me, and mine doesn’t want him?”

These were distinct possibilities, given the circumstances, but Reiko said, “Just hope for the best. Don’t worry so much.” Though preoccupied with her own troubles, she tried to comfort Midori, and wondered why her friend was so upset.

The exterior door slid open, letting in a rush of cold air. A somber, elderly maid entered. She announced, “I present the Honorable Lady Yanagisawa and her daughter, Kikuko.”

Conversations died as everyone turned toward the newcomers who stepped hesitantly into their midst: a woman in her mid-thirties, and a little girl of perhaps eight years.

“The chamberlain’s wife and child?” Midori whispered.

“Yes.” Curiosity leavened Reiko’s spirits. “But why are they here? They’ve never attended these parties.”

Lady Yanagisawa was utterly plain, with legs so bowed that they curved the skirt of her black brocade kimono, and a dour face so flat that all her features seemed to lie on the same plane. Her eyes were horizontal slits, her nostrils wide, her lips broad. In striking contrast, her daughter was a beauty, resplendent in a lavish pink kimono embroidered with silver birds. Kikuko had inherited her father’s tall, slender body., luminous black eyes, and sculpted features. She gazed at the assembly, her face oddly vacant.

Womien hurried forward to welcome the pair. They seated Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko in front of the alcove, where maids served them tea and snacks. As the women went up one by one to meet the exalted guests, Reiko eyed Lady Yanagisawa with covert fascination, because she’d always wondered about the wife of the man who had often schemed against Sano. When her turn came, Reiko took Masahiro by the handl and led him to the alcove. They knelt and bowed; an attendant introduced them.

Lady Yanagisawa barely looked in their general direction. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Reiko.” Her soft voice was rusty as if from disuse, her expression downcast.

“The honor is mine,” Reiko said, noticing that Lady Yanagisawa wore no makeup, except for the brows drawn upon her shaven forehead, perhaps to show off her one good trait-smooth, flawless, moon-white skin.

Masahiro gazed at Lady Yanagisawa with solemn childish scrutiny, and a fleeting smile rippled her somber aspect. He then thrust his chubby little hands toward Kikuko. “Hello,” he said.