Heaven's Net Is Wide by Lian Hearn (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

and skin. And what could be more pleasurable than the warmth of her lover’s body on a cold night under piles of quilts when the snow fell too heavily for him to go home?

She was glad that Moe was away and that there was no sign of reconciliation or, more importantly, of a child. The longer the marriage went without producing a child, she reasoned, the greater were her chances of being permitted to bear one. For Shigeru had to have heirs for the continuity of his family and the stability of the clan. She had to time it right, to find herself pregnant at just the right moment, and then to give him a son.

When the weather permitted, she went to see the old man, taking him charcoal and padded clothes, hot stews and tea. And she brought back secretly the gifts he gave her in return: mummified roots like half-formed embryos, dried leaves and seeds with a bitter taste, tassels woven from human hair, all charms to help her capture Shigeru’s love and protect the child that would be born from it.

She shared, for different reasons, Shigeru’s eagerness to see Lord Shoichi and Lord Masahiro leave the city, and she was angry and disappointed when their departure was prevented by the first snows. Masahiro had not contacted her again, but she was aware that he had her watched, and that sooner or later he would demand another payment for his leniency toward Hayato’s family.

Her unease about this was increased by some indefinable change in Shigeru’s attitude toward her. There was no indication that the charms were working-it would be more true to say the opposite. She told herself it was because of the preoccupations of politics and war, that she could not expect him to remain the passionate boy who had been on the brink of falling in love with her. He still took delight in her company, was indeed still passionate in bed, but she knew he was not in love with her despite all the charms she had tried to bind him with. He came to her frequently-Kiyoshige was away in Chigawa, Lord Irie still in the South, Takeshi at Terayama, and he had few companions-and they talked as they always had, yet she felt he was withholding something from her: he was growing away from her. She did not think she would ever see him weep again.

Their relationship settled into what it was supposed to be: she could not complain about it; she had accepted it, knowing what it was to be; no one had rushed her or forced her, yet she had hoped for much more and now the new coolness in Shigeru’s attitude inflamed her love for him. She had told herself she would never make the mistake of falling in love, but she found herself consumed by her need for him, her desire for his child, her craving for his love. She did not dare express it or even speak to him about jealousy anymore. When he was not with her, she longed for him with physical anguish; when they were together, the thought of his leaving was as painful as if her arm were being wrenched from her body. Yet she gave no sign of her feelings, telling herself she must enjoy what she had, how great her fortune was compared to that of many. There was no doubt it was a convenient arrangement for him; it gave him a great amount of pleasure with very little cost or pain. But he was the heir to the clan, she a nobody, not even a warrior’s daughter. And wasn’t the world arranged for the convenience and pleasure of men? She visited Haruna from time to time to remind herself of this. Haruna returned her visits and once brought Hayato’s widow and her sons to thank Akane. The boys were intelligent and good-looking. She thought they would be kind, like their father. She became interested in their welfare and sent the family gifts. She had saved their lives-in a way, they became her children.

She went to the stone bridge at least once a week to take offerings to her father and to listen to his voice in the icy water as the tide pulled it through the arches. One bleak afternoon, when the light was fading fast, she stepped from her palanquin and walked to the center of the bridge, her maid following her with a red umbrella, for a few flakes of snow were falling.

The tide prevented ice from forming on the surface of the river, but the ground on the banks was frozen hard and the rushes were stiff with frost and frozen snow. Someone had placed winter oranges in front of the stone, and they were also frozen solid, embedded in the crusted snow, tiny ice particles glinting against their bright color in the last of the light.

She took a flask of wine from the maid and poured it into a cup, tipped a few drops out onto the ground and drank the rest herself. The wind off the water brought tears to her eyes, and she allowed herself to weep for a few moments, for her father, for herself, in their imprisonment.

She could not help being aware of the picture it must make-the red umbrella, the woman bent over in grief-and wished somehow Shigeru might be watching her while she was unaware of his gaze.

As she clapped her hands and bowed to her father’s spirit, she realized that someone was watching her from the other side of the bridge. There were a few people in the streets, hurrying home before nightfall, heads bent against the snow, which was falling more heavily now. One or two of them glanced at Akane and called out a respectful greeting, but none of them lingered, except this one man.

As she returned to the palanquin, he crossed the street and walked beside her for the last few paces. She stopped and looked directly at