The Golden Princess: A Novel of the Change (Change Series) Read Online Free

preserved at any cost.
    “The
Renso-no-Gi
and the
Ryosho-no-Gi
are out of the question,” she said quietly; those were the funeral rites. “Investiture with the Regalia . . . well, you all know why we are here. For the present we will simply take this meeting as
Sokui-go-Choken-no-Gi
, the First Audience of my reign. I hereby authorize it.”
    Koyama bowed and slid a sheet of creamy mulberry paper towards her, and then a leather-covered box. She opened it, hearing an intake of breath as the square gold shapes within were exposed to view; not everyone on this voyage knew that the State and Privy Seals were with them.
    Reiko paused for a moment to clear her mind, then in one fluid movement held back the sleeve of her kimono, touched her brush to the wet surface of the inkstone and quickly signed the characters of her name on the paper. Then she pressed the seals home—they were heavy, being of pure gold and three and a half inches on a side, but her hands were strongand steady. The special cinnabar ink stood out below the plain black brushstrokes.
    “Are there any objections?” she asked quietly, as she folded the box closed again. “No? Then we will proceed.”
    There had been whispers that the Emperor treated her too much like a son after her brother Yoshihito’s ship was lost, as if grief had driven him to distraction. These were his most loyal followers, but they would be weighing her every word and action.
    She knew that there had been many times in the long, long history of her people when the Emperor had been a revered but powerless figurehead, a puppet-prisoner in the hands of iron-fisted generals or simply presiding at the rituals of State while politicians ruled. This was not such a time, and her father had been clear that she must
command
as well as preside. Reaching a consensus was important, it provided the framework that made action possible just as the bones did for a man’s body, but without a central focus it degenerated into paralysis all too easily.
    “There is simply no time for ceremony,” she said, after waiting a moment, putting a decisive snap into her tone. “Nor do we have the other requirements for it. The Montivallans can conduct their rituals for their High King because they are on their own ground. We will give—”
    She felt another wave of pain as she stopped herself from referring to her father by his name, or by any title he’d borne in life. That would be inauspicious, but it was like another step away. She controlled her breathing—if you ruled the body, you ruled the mind—and went on by using his posthumous name, called after his era, the Rebirth.
    “—
Saisei Tenno
the proper obsequies when we can. In the meantime we will do him honor by carrying out his plan. Is that understood?”
    “Hai, Heika! Wakarimashita!”
the others replied, ducking their heads in formal agreement.
    Nobody was happy about it, she judged, but necessity had no respect for law. Even custom must bow to it at times. They were probably grateful to have her say it for them, though. Most of these men had loved her father too, in their different ways.
    “We will also take this as the first year of
Shohei
,” she said.
    That was the era-name she had chosen: Victorious Peace. There was a very slight rustle at the boldness of her claim, though eras were named as an aspiration, not in retrospect. Only time would tell whether it was correct . . . or a bitter irony.
    “I require a complete and frank analysis of our situation. Egawa, you will begin,” she went on briskly.
    Remembering to use his name alone this first time, as a marker of their relative positions. Another man might have been offended, though most wouldn’t show it, but Egawa Noboru’s eyes flicked very slightly in approval before he lowered his head in acknowledgement.
    “How are we placed?” she said.
    The Imperial Guard commander bowed.
    “Heika,”
he said.
    That was
Majesty
, as informal as was really possible, acceding to her