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
I didn’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 a tch of displeasure from the