Chapter 25

25

Once upon a time, shoguns ruled Japan. A rigid hierarchical society was established, lasting for two and a half centuries. Tokugawa, the last shogun, fell in 1868, when two powerful clans (whose names I don’t remember) joined forces and seized control. They placed the emperor back in power and threw open the borders. It was the end of feudalism. The class system was abolished. Modern Japan emerged. The country transformed into a world power.

I’m standing in the new imperial palace built on top of Edo Castle, the former seat of the Tokugawa shogunate. In fact, the buildings have been burned and rebuilt a few times. Under my feet, there have been births, deaths, and coronations. Wars have been waged, lost, and won. All of it happened inside this whirlpool design of a citadel.

“Maybe one by the windows?” the imperial photographer asks me, voice echoing. The room we’re in is usually reserved for state dinners, but today it is vast and empty.

I adjust the hemline of my Hanae Mori gown—cherry blossom pink with a floral motif and chiffon sleeves—and step to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, into the sunlight. I stare out the window while the photographer captures my profile. Crowds are already gathering outside. They’ve come to celebrate the emperor’s birthday, a national holiday. Businesses are closed. The palace grounds are open to the public.

Snap. Flash.“Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll confer with Mr. Fuchigami, but I believe I have everything I need.”

I incline my head to the photographer. One of these pictures will become my royal photograph. Whenever I see it, I will always remember how it was taken a few minutes before I met my grandparents. I’ve officially arrived. My father is with the emperor and empress already. Now, I wait in the antechamber for him to fetch me. The photographer leaves. Akio enters.

He checks his watch. “A few more minutes.” Before I meet my grandparents, he means.

I worry my lip. “I didn’t think I’d be this nervous. Do I look okay?” I ask. “Nothing embarrassing like toilet paper on my shoe or food in my teeth?” I flash him my pearly whites. Please don’t let there be anything in my teeth.

His eyes rake over me, head to toe. “You look…” Beautiful? Lovely? “Fine.”

I laugh. He never fails to surprise me. “Wow. I can’t believe I ever thought you lacked charm. I’ll take fine, though. I just want to fit in.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “Maybe you’re not meant to fit in. Maybe you’re meant to stand out.” My heart beats heavy and fast. He bows. “You’re beautiful, Your Highness.” He looks down, hesitates. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, probably not,” I say. “But just to clarify, beautiful like a unicorn bathed in glitter?”

“No.” My face falls at his emphatic response. “I’d never say something like that.”

“No, of course not.”

He closes the distance between us. We’re a foot apart. Akio’s voice is low, husky, and filled with sweet longing as he says, “If I could speak freely, I might say you remind me of Kannon, the goddess of mercy, with dark hair that absorbs the light. A face so lovely it blinded men … and yet, so far from a mere mortal’s reach.” With a single finger, he traces my hairline, leaving sparks in its wake.

“Well that’s better, I guess.”

He withdraws. His smile is wry. “I guess.”

My breath hitches. I’m struggling to form the words to tell him that when we’re together, it’s as if we’re standing at the bow of a ship, like I can feel the spray of the tide and the wind in my hair. “Akio, I—”

“We need to talk,” he says at the same time.

His words slash through my haze. “Sounds serious.” My lighthearted tone is not convincing. Suddenly, it’s as if I’ve swallowed a nest of bees. My insides hum with apprehension.

Akio’s brows dart in. “No, it’s not like that. It is serious, but it’s good. At least I think it’s good.”

“Please,” I say. “You can tell me anything.”

The doors open. It’s Mr. Fuchigami. “Your Highness.”

The timing is poor, but inevitable.

“I’ll find you sometime during the luncheon,” I say lowly.

Akio nods, imperial guard mask back firmly in place. I’ve left my gloves on a window ledge. I retrieve them and head toward Mr. Fuchigami. Akio has moved to the door as well. As I pass him, he lifts a single finger and it brushes along my wrist. It gives me courage. My steps are more surefooted. It’s amazing how life-sustaining a single touch can be.

---

My father waits in the hall. He smiles gently, and we begin walking down the red carpet, me following just a step behind. The hallway is lined with evenly spaced bamboo lanterns and I count them as we move.

When we reach a set of doors, he stops. “Don’t be intimidated. Just remember, they watch soap operas and sumo wrestling in the evenings,” he whispers with a wink. “We’ll talk for a while. Then, I’ll accompany my parents to the balcony. You may watch in the wings, if you’d like. I did so as a little boy.” Only imperials that have come of age can stand on the balcony and greet Japan. It’s tradition.

I relax a smidgen. Smile. Talk about a brave face. My father nods to two white-gloved attendants. Doors slide open, folding in like neat origami. I understand now. These pocket doors are part of the Japanese way. We are all just a bigger part of the whole.

He’ll enter first. Imperial protocol. I’ll follow behind. This, I do alone, without Mariko, Mr. Fuchigami, or Akio at my back. I square my shoulders. Take a few easy breaths. Remind myself pressure is okay. It’s how diamonds are made.

The Audience Room is vast. Various representatives are present, including the Grand Chamberlain, Mr. Fuchigami’s boss’s boss. There is a stillness, a silence like that of a temple. But it’s not cold. The room is made entirely of cypress. The walls are papered in fabric with bamboo patterns. It’s warm, inviting. In the center, the empress and emperor sit in upholstered silk chairs, a table and tea set between them. Simple. Domestic.

I approach and go into some sort of trance where I bow and deliver the correct honorifics. When finished, I stand vision downcast and wait. From the corner of my eye, I see my father. He’s standing, too. Nothing seems to move for a while. Not even time.

“Please,” the empress speaks. Her voice is warm and dry. “Sit.”

Chairs are produced. My father and I sink into them. I place my gloves in my lap, fold my hands on top of them, and keep my gaze trained there. An attendant pours tea, setting the cup and saucer on the table in front of me. My hands are shaky as I pick them up.

“Izumi-chan,” the empress says.

Her use of the affectionate honorific surprises me. My eyes dart up then back down, embarrassed. But in that one moment, I am able to fully see her. Her character shows through her features: An oval face with a small nose and kind eyes. Wrinkled skin the color of parchment paper. Hair glowing gray, parted down the middle and pulled back into a neat twist. She is wearing a kimono of brown silk with gold and silver bars. She is full of grace. “Your father speaks very highly of you.”

Another glance up. This time, my gaze bounces between the empress and emperor. There’s an unimpeachable aura about the two. My grandfather is small, approaching his ninth decade. A pair of round spectacles is perched on his nose, and dark circles hang below his eyes—he hasn’t fully recovered from his fatigue. His suit is slightly ill fitting. It’s as if he’s shrinking in time. His court name is Takehito. The -hito at the end signals the highest level of virtue. “Sono yō na shōsan ni atai shimasen,” I say, deflecting the compliment.

“Mr. Fuchigami reports your studies are going well,” the empress says, eyes gleaming. With a dainty, speckled hand, she picks up the teacup and takes a slow sip.

“I still have much to learn,” I reply serenely.

The empress presses her lips together. “Yes,” she says, placing the teacup down with a distinct click. “You haven’t chosen a hobby.”

“I haven’t, but I do enjoy botany.” Whew. Way to think on your feet, Izumi.

She tilts her head. “That would be acceptable. Your father has a fondness for orchids.” Could she know my father’s affinity for orchids is in direct correlation with his affinity for my mother? “Much too finicky for me. I prefer azaleas. When I was a little girl, I used to drink the nectar from the flowers.”

I brighten a little. “I did that, too.” Mom had azalea plants all over our property. She taught me how to pull the blossom from the stem and slurp from the tip of the flower like her mother had shown her. I always thought it was something unique to us, to our family. But maybe it was more. A connection to Japan, an invisible tether. “Is there a variety you prefer? I quite enjoy the omurasaki.”

I’ve caught her attention. “It is a lovely bloom,” she says. “Your mother is a botanist?”

“She teaches biology at the collegiate level and botany is a passion of hers, yes.”

She eyes me shrewdly.

The emperor taps his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “It would be better if your parents were married.”

My insides turn to dust.

“Please don’t,” my father says to his father.

My grandfather waves his hand like the emperor he is. “Fifteen hundred years of monarchy and we’ve never had a child born out of wedlock.”

“That’s not true.” My father is flushed. “Or are you forgetting the former concubine quarters, now horse stalls?”

The emperor raises his bushy eyebrows. “You should marry her mother. Have more children. A boy.”

In Japan, only males may inherit the throne. It goes against my grain. I’ve had heated discussions with Mr. Fuchigami about this. Japan had female empresses up until the eighteenth century. Then in the nineteenth century, the Meiji Constitution blocked female heirs.

My father says, “It might be time the laws are changed.”

My heart stalls. Most women born into the imperial family marry commoners, like my cousin Sachiko. She’s engaged to the heir of a rice empire. When they wed, Sachiko will officially leave the imperial family. She’ll lose her title. It seems I’ll follow the same path someday, way into the future. But my father is suggesting that I might become empress. Whoa, that’s a can of worms I’m not ready to open now.

“Izumi-chan,” the empress says, “What are your thoughts on this?”

Think about what you would normally say, then do the oppositewas Mariko’s last bit of parting advice to me. But I owe it to myself and to all women to say something about gender biases. Actually, I have quite a few thoughts. I am my mother’s daughter, after all.

Carefully, I set my teacup down to consider the most diplomatic response. “The Imperial Household Law stipulates that only men whose fathers are emperors may inherit the throne. However, some scholars may argue that such law violates the principle that men and women be treated equally as set forth in Article 14 of the constitution.”

“You’ve studied the constitution?” The emperor eyes me keenly.

“Yes,” I say evenly. Thank you, Mariko and Mr. Fuchigami. “Historically, there has been precedence for females to reign.” I list off the eight empresses, speaking in my own self-interest. Might as well. Men have been doing it for years. “We might even argue the goddess Amaterasu was the first to rule,” I say lightly.

My father smiles behind his hand.

The empress takes a sip of tea. “I am inclined to agree with you.”

“What of tradition?” the emperor asks. “Three generations have passed since the Meiji charter took effect.” There is no heat in his statement. It’s as if he’s enjoying a lively debate.

My father chimes in. “Traditions are important. But I believe they can unite as easily as they divide. You and mother have broken several traditions over the years. Raising your children in your own home…”

I nod, knowing what he’s referring to. Mariko showed me news clippings. The emperor had been raised away from his parents, and the nation was shocked when he didn’t follow in their footsteps. Too modern, they said. The end of the monarchy. I send my father a silent thanks.

The empress says softly, “A new tradition was born after that.”

My grandfather pats his knee. “Whatever the answer, it is not up to us to decide. The people will.”

We all agree to that. Bigger things are at play here, and it isn’t a decision one person will make. That’s a part of being in an institution. I am my father’s daughter, too. We all have our place.

It doesn’t mean the story can’t change. It just affects how it will.

Besides, I don’t even know if I want to be empress. Being a princess is hard enough. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to have the choice, though. That’s what this is about. Choices.

The emperor stands, followed by the empress. The room springs to life. Chamberlains and attendants close in. My father rises from his chair. I stand too, keeping my gloves tucked in my hand.

The empress approaches me. “You will do well here,” she says.

I feel like it’s my obligation to be honest. I discard Mariko’s advice. “My time here has not been without a few hiccups, Your Majesty.”

“No. You will do well. Not only do I predict it, I deem it so.”

Well, hard to argue with that. She leaves, trailing behind the emperor.

My father leans down and whispers, “You survived.”

It’s over. I breathe deeply, and it’s like the first inhale after you dive to the bottom of the pool and swim frantically to the surface.

My father begins to walk. I stay behind, planning to follow in a minute and take my place in the rafters. But then, a murmur runs through the crowd. The empress has stopped at the door. She speaks earnestly to the emperor and he agrees with a solid nod. Hearing them, my father returns to my side. “Their Majesties request their entire family be present on the balcony.” His smile is wide, proud, and contagious. “A new tradition.”

My hands flutter at my sides. My heart lodges in my throat. Words are impossible.

The hall is lined with various officials, men in suits, guards in full regalia, and the rest of the imperial family. It’s a commotion as they’re informed of the new plan: all of the family will join on the balcony. The emperor and empress lead. My father and I fall in line behind them. Then my Uncle Nobuhito and his daughters, the Shining Twins. His wife, their mother, is absent. No one remarks on it. Then come Uncle Yasuhito and Auntie Asako, followed by their children: Sachiko, Masahito, and Yoshi, who winks at me. The imperial procession carries on.

A set of double doors are opened by imperial guards in dashing green uniforms, red ropes around their shoulders. They salute. Forty-five thousand people have gathered outside to wish the emperor well.

The emperor goes first, then the empress. We all take our places beside them: My father to his immediate left. Me next to him. All others on the empress’s side. We’re behind bulletproof glass, but it does little to hinder the noise. It is deafening, alive, and charged. Thousands of Hinomaru flags wave in the air. The emperor speaks into two microphones. He gives a speech, thanking the people for coming to wish him well on his birthday. In turn, he wishes them health and happiness. This delights the spectators. He steps back and waves.

The crowd chants Tennō Heika. Heavenly sovereign. They grow louder still, clapping, shouting, merrymaking. I wave along with my relatives. Together. As one. Joy bubbles in my chest. Pride, too. This is destiny. It cannot be any clearer. I am meant to be here. This is where I belong.