Leaning against the teahouse wall for support, I read the letter yet again to the percussion of my pounding pulse.

Without any additional evidence, I knew the Princess had written to my Ansei, and she had written him of myself, vaguely identified by an anonymous moniker. I stared through my mind’s eye as the scattered intelligence assembled in my mind, but I could not interpret a reasonable story.

It was unremarkable to me that even a princess had fallen in love with Ansei, but what higher State purpose was he devoted to above the love of a princess? And how did this purpose relate to me? What was this matter of State that so concerned him? And not him alone, but others? She had called them his brothers.

What did she mean? Ansei intended to use me against an enemy? What enemy?

Ansei’s motives were more complex than he had ever implied. Then the truth opened to me with searing clarity. Strange to realize, it had laid naked before my eyes for many, many months.

Ansei had implied this complexity, but I had been unable or unwilling to confront the implications with my eyes open. Ansei had told me directly: Someday I will ask you for some terrible thing I have no right to expect you to honor.

What was this thing? And how did it relate to some seditious State purpose?

A child rushed by me with a current of air that jostled the letter and brought me back to where I stood in space and time. I snatched up the letter and ripped it into pieces, then tossed the pieces into a filthy canal to one side of the street.

The image of those corpses piled on top of each other in a garden grave flashed into my mind. I had killed them, I did not know how, but now I knew I was the weapon the letter had spoken of. Ansei would use me against his enemy. This was the thing I had been waiting, all but begging, for him to ask of me.

A tool, an instrument of assassination. This was Ansei’s intention for me. This was what I represented in his sight. From beginning to end, and for who knew how long.

No wonder he feared me. No wonder he had withdrawn the way he had, and yet had begged my patience. All those promises. All that hope had been to keep me compliant. And he’d managed simply enough, full knowing how I loved him.

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* * *

In the end, I returned to the palace, but I had not given up the idea of flight. As matters stood, however, the Princess would guess what I had done, and alert Ansei, who would pursue me.

When I ran—if I did run—I would not risk pursuit. Yes, at one time I would have fled, only guessing what I was running from and to where I was going, but I had gained more patience with fear since then. I could bear this tension. I could hold it lightly.

Perhaps I would intercept more letters. I would affect loyalty to the Princess, carry more correspondence, and use that intelligence to cobble together a plan of escape. Ansei had not come, and the Princess’ communication having failed, he might yet delay.

I had a little window of time, and in that space, I mourned the loss of a love I had never really possessed. How had I let myself believe it possible? I searched every memory of our interaction in the garden, at my loom, every tender word Ansei had ever spoken to me. In these words, I confirmed my doubt. He had repeatedly promised to be with me, but Ansei had never confessed the words: I love you.

Yet, through all of his apparent deception, he had insisted upon one truth. He had warned me against fully trusting him. He had at least alluded to harmful motives. I had not heard his warnings, so self-deceived had I been.

* * *

It was well I had not run. The exposure from my detention had weakened me, and with my anxious mind, I succumbed, as I never had to illness. I could not weave, but lay abed with a fever for days.

A low-ranking maid brought me broth, but otherwise awareness of time and my surroundings failed. Over days, I gradually regained strength and could think again and plan.

Throughout my feverish stupor, I puzzled over my plight. One thing confused me beyond understanding. Why had Ansei worked so hard to persuade me of my own dignity? My value? Was such earnestness really necessary if I were only a weapon to him? And why and how could he use me against his target? I had never killed at will. Could I be so disarming? And how could he be sure, even if I could do such a thing, that I would be willing?

I didn’t puzzle long on this point, however. I was wretched with myself for it, but I still felt vulnerable to him. Even undeceived as I was, but he was not sure. He had never attempted to command me to do anything. Everything he had ever asked me had always been framed as a request. Would that change when I saw him next?

I could not be Ansei’s assassin. I retained that much sense of my own self, however degrading the life of abuse I had led. I would not become a machine to the revolution no matter how cruel the Ruling House. I would not be a mindless instrument.

At night, I gazed at the sky and let heaven’s glow reflect its glory against my face, and I tried—how I tried to believe it was a part of me!