Now he entered the range of her ordinary senses. She heard his stealthy footsteps and the whisper of his satin robes on the path. She smelled his wintergreen hair oil and masculine body odor. He stopped just short of her, his presence a cold patch of night in the bright morning.

“Continue working. Don’t look up,” said Chamberlain Yanagisawa.

Aoi kept her eyes on the ground and her hand moving, though less out of obedience than from fear of meeting his gaze. Why had he come to her like this, in the open, where anyone could see them? Had he somehow learned of her defection? Her thoughts flew to her family. She must warn them of the danger. And Sano, too, who at this moment was out gathering evidence against the chamberlain.

Above her, a branch of the flowering cherry tree rustled, then snapped: Yanagisawa had picked a spray of blossoms. She felt him hold them to his nose and heard him sniff their fragrance- his ostensible reason for stopping, the pretense to hide their conversation.

“What have you to report about Sōsakan Sano’s inquiries?” he asked.

Aoi relaxed a little. Maybe he’d found a spare moment in his busy schedule, had been passing by the shrine, and impulsively stopped to see her. Hastily she marshaled her thoughts.

“Yesterday Sano interviewed Chūgo Gichin and Matsui Minoru.” She knew Yanagisawa had other spies, who might tell him even if she didn’t, and the last thing she wanted was for him to doubt her efficiency or loyalty.

“Has he found evidence against any of the suspects?”

She heard an anxious tremor in the chamberlain’s smooth voice. Were Sano’s suspicions justified? Now Aoi longed to look into his eyes and read the truth there.

Instead, she arranged her sweepings of dirt, twigs, and dead blossoms into a neat pile. “No, Honorable Chamberlain,” she replied evenly.

A beat passed. Then: “Did you see Sano last night?”

Panic rippled the surface of Aoi’s nerves. Sano’s servants knew she’d brought him home last night and stayed until dawn. How much else they knew-or would tell, if asked-she couldn’t say. In addition, Sano’s attackers might have recognized her. She must stay as close to the truth as possible.

“I saw him, Honorable Chamberlain,” she said.

“How did he seem?”

He knew about the attack. Aoi could tell by the acceleration of his pulse, which she felt as a palpitation in her ears.

“He was badly beaten,” she said cautiously. “I treated his wounds. I listened to his troubles. I left him asleep.”

“Good. He will trust you all the more.”

The satisfaction in Yanagisawa’s voice chilled her. He was a suspect; he wanted Sano’s investigation stopped. Had he ordered the beating? Was this proof of his guilt?

“And how is our invalid this morning?” Yanagisawa’s hushed laugh made Aoi imagine a soft quilt stuffed with steel needles. “In bed, where he’ll languish away the rest of his miserable life?”

Aoi wanted to tell him that Sano’s body and spirit were broken, that the investigation was over-anything to cease Yanagisawa’s interference and buy her and Sano time to destroy him. But she couldn’t risk the possibility of his learning the truth elsewhere and discovering her lies.

“No, Honorable Chamberlain,” she said, hating her role as a spy even more now that she’d renounced it. “Sano is a strong man. And lucky that whoever beat him didn’t hurt him permanently. He was well enough to leave the castle this morning to call on another suspect. A woman named O-tama.”

Yanagisawa’s robes rustled as he began to pace. His movements stirred up a cold draft that raised bumps on Aoi’s skin. A net of terror fell over her heart: silk threads tightening, cutting. She could no longer pretend to work, because she knew what he was going to say.

“It’s just as I feared. It’s not enough to feed Sano false information, undermine his relationship with the shogun, threaten him with ruin, and hope he fails. He’s too zealous in his duty. He’s impervious to pain; he has incredible good fortune, and no regard for self-preservation. If he’s interrogating Chūgo, Matsui, and O-tama, he’s on the path to the truth. He must be stopped before he gets any farther.”

Yanagisawa stopped pacing, but his anger, fear, and hatred coalesced around them like a gathering storm.

“At the earliest possible moment, you will kill Sano.”

Aoi heard his robes swish as his arm moved. On top of her dirt pile landed the cherry branch he’d been holding. The broken end exposed the pale wood beneath the bark; the bright blossoms had already begun to wilt. Aoi’s horror blurred its image into a vision of torn flesh and spilled blood. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Through her mind’s silent screams of protest, Yanagisawa spoke again.

“And make it look like a natural death.”

Then he was gone.

When Sano returned to his mansion that evening, he was so stiff and sore he could barely move. Pain clothed him like a skintight suit of armor lined with spikes. At his gate he almost fell off his horse, then staggered through the courtyard and into the house. There he collapsed facedown in the corridor, thankful that no one had attacked him on his way home, for he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself. He rested in the security of having stone walls and guarded gates between him and whoever wished him harm.

Then he heard soft footsteps coming down the corridor. He looked up to see Aoi kneel beside him, her lovely face grave with concern. In his joy at seeing her again, he almost forgot his pain.

“I’ve prepared a medicinal bath for you,” she said. “Come.”

With her strong arms, she helped him to his feet and supported him down the corridor. Sano wanted to rest in her embrace and drink in her beauty, but he could do neither.

“I can’t stay,” he said.

“You must. For the sake of your health.”

He’d spent the afternoon in a futile attempt to establish the suspects’ presences in the pharmacists’ district, the eta settlement, Yoshiwara, and Zōjō Temple at the times of the murders. Now he should find out whether Aoi had identified the mystery witness from the temple, then begin surveillance on Chamberlain Yanagisawa. But the pain, coupled with his desire to be with her, overcame his resistance. He let her lead him to the bathchamber.

In the lamplit paneled room, a coal fire burned beneath the large, round wooden tub. From the heated water rose steam redolent with a sweet, pungent herb Sano couldn’t identify. The open window framed the branches of a blooming cherry tree that trembled in the cool evening breeze, dropping petals like snow flurries.

Sano undressed, and saw that the bruises had darkened; he looked as bad as he felt. His happiness at being with Aoi turned to puzzlement. As she helped him scrub and rinse himself, her touch was gentle but impersonal. She didn’t speak, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Last night’s intimacy was gone, as if it had never existed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Still not looking at him, she shrugged and shook her head. “Get in. Before the water cools.”

Wincing in pain, Sano climbed the short ladder into the tub and immersed himself. The heat seeped into his aching muscles; a blissful sigh escaped him. But even as the pain and tension slipped away, he examined Aoi with increasing concern.

She stood stiffly beside the tub, her face pensive. And why was his extra sense detecting the cold breath of danger emanating from her? His innate distrust of the ninja resurfaced.

“There is something wrong. What is it?”

“Nothing,” she answered, too quickly.

A sick feeling spread through Sano’s stomach, almost eclipsing his fear, as he guessed at the problem. “You weren’t able to find out who the missing woman was?”

“Yes. I did.” Her voice was flat, its huskiness turned hoarse. “Madam Shimizu, wife of an Edo rice broker, fits what you told me, and what I learned from her clothes. She’s staying at her husband’s summer villa.” In the same lifeless voice, Aoi gave the woman’s description, and directions for finding the house.