Free The Ronin's Mistress by Laura Joh Rowland

a storm brewing, the forty-seven r ō nin at the center, and spectators already taking sides.
    “Behave yourselves,” he told the r ō nin.
    “We will,” Oishi said, quiet and stern.
    Hirata and his troops had mounted their horses to ride back to town, when Hirata felt a strange, tingling sensation. Then came a force that pulsated through the cold air, that boomed in counter-rhythm to his heartbeat. His whole body tensed with recognition and fright. It was the energy aura he’d last encountered two years ago.
    His stalker had finally returned.
    Hirata resisted two opposing urges—to draw his sword for combat or drop flat on the ground and cover his head. Instead, he called to the troops, “Go ahead.” He had to face his stalker alone and not endanger the men. “I’ll catch up.”
    They went. Hirata sat astride his horse and swept his gaze over the scene. He saw the glare of sun on snow and the white plaster wall of the estate across the street. Passersby glanced at him curiously, but none with malevolent intent. The aura seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It began to fade. Hirata saw a movement to his left—a redness like a splash of blood. He whirled.
    It was a strip of red paper stuck on a spiky bush near the Hosokawa gate. Hirata could have sworn that it hadn’t been there a moment ago. It fluttered in the wind. Hirata leaped off his horse and snatched the paper. It was clean and neatly cut, not a torn scrap of garbage. Figures written in elegant black calligraphy graced one side. Hirata read,
     
Sunlight illuminates the darkness inside a black cave.
What you seek has already found you.
Seek no further.
    Hirata puzzled over the cryptic message. Was it for him, from his stalker? If so, what did it mean?
    Someone came up behind him and tapped his shoulder. Hirata started violently. He turned. The man he saw was a soldier dressed in an iron helmet and a tunic made of iron plates covered with leather and laced together, standard military gear. A scarf muffled the soldier’s face up to the nose. His eyes crinkled with amusement.
    Hirata drew his breath to speak. In that instant the soldier vanished, then reappeared halfway down the street. He held Hirata’s gaze for another instant, then turned and walked away. Hirata hurried after him. A squadron of mounted samurai emerged from a gate and blocked Hirata’s path. By the time Hirata got around them, the soldier was nowhere in sight.

 
     
    8
     
     
    WHEN SANO, MARUME , and Fukida arrived at Edo Castle, soldiers loitered outside, avidly reading news broadsheets. The broadsheets were illustrated with a crude drawing of the forty-seven r ō nin on the march, carrying Kira’s head on a spear. At the palace, Sano found the very same broadsheet in the shogun’s private chambers.
    The shogun held a copy above his face while he lay on his back in bed. His robe was open, his naked torso exposed. A physician rubbed spice-scented oil on the shogun’s stomach. Chamberlain Yanagisawa, Yoritomo, and two men from the Council of Elders—Sano’s friend Ohgami and enemy Ihara—knelt around the shogun, twisting into awkward postures, trying to read the broadsheet. Yoritomo read aloud, “A hundred savage r ō nin broke into the estate of the shogun’s master of ceremonies. They cut off his head and massacred everybody else.”
    Yanagisawa and the elders listened with concern. The shogun exclaimed, “This is even worse than I feared! Can it be true?”
    Yanagisawa noticed Sano standing at the threshold. His eyes narrowed. “Here’s the man who should be able to tell us.”
    “There were forty-seven r ō nin, not a hundred,” Sano said. “They spared the women, children, and servants.”
    “How nice of them.” Sarcasm didn’t improve the looks of Elder Ihara’s monkey face.
    Yoritomo started reading a gory description of the murder. The shogun said, “Stop right there, or I’ll be sick!” and flung away the broadsheet.
    The physician lit a candle and