The inn was small, furnished with both natural and man-made interior baths—a good house, but more rustic than a princess would be used to, I thought. Even so, she didn’t hesitate to make herself comfortable upon our arrival, inviting me to join her at the kotatsu.

“Does the Princess bathe here often?” I said, sinking into seiza.

“I have been here once or twice, I suppose. There are several more lavish houses closer to the city,” she averted her eyes, “but this one is so secluded. For our purposes, it is very convenient.”

I wondered what she meant by convenient. The term was almost always coded language. Convenient meant useful for a particular purpose as much as it meant simple or easy. To her unique meaning, I couldn’t bring myself to probe, but had the impression that whatever she meant, the convenience was hers, and not mine.

We rested briefly from the journey within rooms, took tea, and then padded outside in cotton bathing robes to a washing area. A rope pulley released a shower of mineral water to wash with before entering a shared bathing pool. I had never seen this kind of innovation before, and gasped in surprise and delight when the Princess demonstrated it, drenching herself in the process.

We washed first, followed by the Princess’s small entourage. All would follow her into pool and bathe as one party.

The Princess waded into the foamy soup slowly, her bare skin as flawless as though dusted all over with powder. She turned around and around in the pool’s rising vapor, exulting in the exotic mixture of warm and cool air currents.

“I confess, I didn’t really wish to come today,” she said, while she settled into a shallow natural seat at the edge of the pool.

I sank in the water. “Indeed?”

“So, it is to be a woman—even a princess, you understand.”

I didn’t.

“We are but well treated servants, even the highest-ranking women must serve.”

“Perhaps we are more powerful than you think,” I whispered.

She turned on me a strange expression. “Perhaps you are, but even the powerful must put their country before themselves if history is to give a good account of them.” This saying seemed to me a warning. She turned her eyes askance at the place where the spring spilled over a pile of moss-covered rocks and into the pool. “Loneliness is its own kind of freedom. I understand your wishing it.” As she said this, I let my eyes drop, ashamed of the selfishness with which she charged me.

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The Princess smiled sadly, and then drew her gaze to a focus on me. “Why do you sink so low in the water, Orihime? Are you so shy?”

I shut my eyes against her probing examination. I had suffered so many beatings across my neck and back. What ought to have been the most seductive area of my body meant only shame to me.

“You are lovely, Orihime.” She added, almost as an afterthought, though I knew better than to believe it, “Your husband will be very happy.”

My head snapped up and I stared—yes, stared directly at the Princess in wordless challenge. She looked away first, eyes gleaming with emotion. But she knew, and I knew. In that moment, we both acknowledged her betrayal.

I swallowed over a stiffened throat and adjusted to the realization that my time had already run out. With few words, the Princess had changed everything. And every inch of my being rejected it.

Now Ansei would come. After all my watching and waiting, he would make his claim. He had known and foretold everything with the accuracy and foreknowledge of a prophet.

How would I face him? What would I say? “How long will it be before it happens?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The Princess refused to meet my eyes. “It has happened already.”

* * *

Human lives were bartered and exchanged over tea all the time—lives more important lives than mine. I knew this. The Princess herself was an object of stratagem. And yet I resisted fatalism. I resisted objectification. All my life, I had survived upon a strength I hadn’t fully understood. And my deadliest strength had emerged unbidden and protected me instinctively, chilling as this was to me. I didn’t need to understand it for it to manifest.

Knowing this, why should I be afraid of Ansei? He had intended to harness me for his own purposes, but he had always warned me of his having intentions I shouldn’t trust. I doubted he could force my part in the revolution, and he probably had no intention of trying. Else why had he spoken of asking something dreadful? I knew his terror of me. Why should I fear him?

I could say no. He might well expect it. I could stop Ansei. Perhaps I could stop an army.

Once born, this idea seemed to vaporize and expand until it filled my whole body. As soon as it distilled, that I could examine it more closely, a new thought followed: what if I could stop powerful men—and should I?

True. The Okugawa Ruling House had done nothing for me; had given me no protection, no name, no privileges in society. If any had discovered my fraud in impersonating nobility, the reigning authority would have locked me away, or more probably, tortured and killed me. Would I defend this tyrant only to spite Ansei’s revolution? I didn’t know.

Our party would return to the Eastern Capital the following evening, and then, I supposed they would send me to Western Capital. Perhaps Ansei would be there. I no longer thought of running. I wanted to confront him.

By evening, trunks were packed and stowed and the party was preparing to depart, but for some reason, the Princess decided to delay and sent only a messenger ahead to the palace.

“I would do well with another night of spring mountain air at least,” she decided.

Perhaps she read my thoughts on my face, because she cautioned me, “I know you are angry with me, but I cannot begin to care about that now. When you have a powerful gift, it is your duty to use it to good purpose.”