reach. Her husband had risen from the lowliest sandal bearer to the mightiest daimyo the world had ever known. Soon he would bring every last corner of the empire under his rule, and already he had his eyes on the mainland. Joseon would be the first to fall. From there he would march on China, or so he said after sake put a fire in his belly. And why not? If Kublai Khan could conquer half the world, why should Hideyoshi aspire to anything less? After all, the only people to repel Kublai Khan were the Japanese. Even the mighty Mongols were no match for the samurai spirit.
The only limit to Hideyoshi’s ambition was time. He had accomplished more in his fifty-two years than any man alive, but he did not have another fifty-two years to complete his vision—not unless he had Streaming Dawn. The blade of eternal life was almost certainly a myth. Then again, so was the blade that guaranteed glory and victory. The Bear Cub was modest, but Nene could see the truth in Katsushima’s paternal pride. One crippled boy stood no chance against fifty men. He didn’t even stand a chance against General Mio, who was four times his size. Only the sword could explain his victories. If that one was real, then why not the other?
That furtive glance between Daigoro and Katsushima told her one thing: they knew of Streaming Dawn. They believed it existed. Whether they believed in its magic was of no consequence; that was up to Nene to prove. More important was for them to see that Nene believed in it. She needed them to see it as a worthy prize, one that Nene might buy with Shichio’s blood.
“If you want Shichio’s head, there are two paths you can take,” she said. “You already know a direct assault will not avail you. Your only other option is to parley. My husband is a consummate tactician; offer him something more valuable than Shichio and he will not be so foolish as to let lust or friendship spoil the exchange.”
“Why Streaming Dawn?”
It was impertinent for him to question his betters, but as she did with his earlier faux pas, Nene chose to let it pass. “When we married, an astrologer gave us a reading. She said that my husband would rule the world or die in the attempt. That was almost thirty years ago, but I have never forgotten it. Now my husband comes closer and closer to ruling the world—or to dying in the attempt. I would not see him fall before his time. If Streaming Dawn can prevent that, then I must have it.”
The boy spent a long, mute moment thinking about what she’d said. During his silence, Nene became acutely aware of the cold. It made her feel vulnerable. She had risked much in coming here, and now everything hung on this young boy’s next decision.
At last Daigoro said, “So who is it that wants the blade? You or your husband?”
Nene’s captain of the guard sprang to his feet. His hands moved to his katana, ready to draw. “Who are you to question the Lady in the North? Know your place, ronin.”
“It’s all right, Captain.” Nene said it calmly, though in truth her captain wasn’t wrong. It was not a samurai’s lot in life to question nobility. How different these eastern provinces are from Kyoto, Nene thought. Had the boy asked the same question at court—or any question, for that matter—he might well have been crucified for it. But this wasn’t Kyoto, and the wise swimmer aligned herself with the current. “Does it matter which one of us wants it?”
“I think it does, my lady.” Nene was glad to hear the contrition in Daigoro’s tone. “If your husband has forgotten your astrologer’s soothsaying, then he is not the one who wants Streaming Dawn. And if you’re the one who wants to exchange Shichio’s life for the blade, then it’s already in your power to deliver Shichio to me.”
“Is it now?” He was bold, that was certain. Nene could see what Hideyoshi liked about him, and also what Shichio hated about him.
“I believe so, my lady. If I am right, then . . . well, I must ask, Nene-dono: why have you not betrayed him to me already?”
Nene’s captain drew his katana halfway out of its sheath before Nene raised a staying hand. Bold and then some, she thought. Daigoro’s duty was to answer, not to inquire. “Is it so wrong for