Smoke in the Sun

  “I’ve never been flippant with your life.” Tsuneoki crossed his arms.

  “So you say,” Yumi muttered.

  Pain crossed Tsuneoki’s features. But he said nothing. It was strange for Mariko to witness this exchange. Strange for her to see the elegant maiko take on the role of a disgruntled younger sister. A role Mariko knew all too well. Tsuneoki inhaled with care as he considered his sister’s expressionless face. Then he sighed and turned back to Mariko.

  “Thank you for coming here so quickly,” he began. “I need to speak with you about a plan we’ve devised.”

  “We?” Mariko glanced about.

  “Ōkami and I.”

  Her pulse took flight. “Is he—”

  “Ōkami wanted to come, but his injuries were too severe.” When Tsuneoki saw the look on Mariko’s face, he squeezed her hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. He is on the mend and just as irritating as ever.”

  Mariko took a step back. “I … understand.” Disappointment caused her shoulders to sag. She rebelled against it, forcing herself to stand tall. “What matters do you need to discuss with me?”

  “Through Yumi’s contacts here at the okiya, we’ve established communication with a senior advisor to the emperor. A man who has fond recollections of a time when Takeda Shingen protected the people of Wa. I wish to ask for your help in delivering him a message.” Tsuneoki hesitated. “But it could be dangerous, Mariko. I want to warn you. There is no telling how the emperor might react if he learns of your involvement.”

  Mariko did not need to think twice. “Tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it.”

  Tsuneoki smiled. “I knew you would.” He crooked his lips to one side, as though he were still weighing his next words.

  “Is there something else you wished to discuss with me?” Mariko asked.

  “Your brother would like to speak to you.”

  Mariko shook her head. “No. Tell Kenshin I wish him well. But I have no intention of seeing him. Nothing he could do or say would compel me otherwise.”

  At the harshness of Mariko’s pronouncement, Yumi frowned. Tsuneoki’s features turned circumspect. He said, “If I may, I think Lord Kenshin is—”

  “I am not interested in hearing any excuses for his behavior. I tried to make him understand. And he mistreated me harshly for it. Kenshin believes these things are a matter of honor, and not of what is right. He cannot be trusted with anything I value.”

  “You are”—Tsnuneoki appeared to search for what to say—“not wrong, Mariko. But after hearing him speak, I do think there is something amiss with him. Something that is not his fault.”

  Yumi’s eyes darkened. “Mariko, I’m afraid some misfortune has fallen upon Kenshin. Your brother does not remember things he’s done, and it appears he loses control over his thoughts. I’ve sent for a healer to speak with him, but he’s … quite troubled.”

  “Be that as it may, I no longer want to waste my time persuad him to change his mind. My brother wishes me to be somebody I am not. He’s always wished it of me.” Mariko’s expression turned grim. “If any member of my family ever needs assistance, I will do whatever I can to provide it.” She grasped the layers of light silk that made up her kimono. The worst kind of frippery. Fragile and impractical. “But I will not see Kenshin.”

  Tsuneoki bowed. “I understand,” he said softly. “I will convey your wishes to him.” With a sidelong glance at his sister, he left.

  Yumi regarded Mariko. The sigh that passed the maiko’s lips was soul deep. “It was … difficult hearing what you said about your brother.”

  “It was difficult for me to say it.” Mariko swallowed. “But it is my truth. Kenshin hurt me. Deeply. He believes in his ridiculous code of honor more than he does anything else.”

  Yumi nodded. “I’ve felt the same way about my brother for years. Yet—when I heard how unforgiving you were just now, how final it sounded—it wounded me. Not because I thought you were wrong, but because, for the first time, I thought about what this life must have been like for my brother.” A furrow collected above Yumi’s brow. “He loved Ōkami for years, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Yumi shook her head. “No. Not the love of a friend. More.”

  It took Mariko a moment to process Yumi’s words. When she did, understanding warmed within her. It made sense. In the farthest reaches of memory, Mariko recalled the things Tsuneoki had said to her about love during their first journey to Inako. About how he had suffered in love.

  “I’ve always known this about Tsuneoki, even when we were children,” Yumi said. “I only resented him so much because he chose Ōkami over me. Over and over again, he chose to be free rather than to remain with his family. But it must have been so difficult for my brother. To lose everything and still know there could be so much more you might have to suffer. Things no one else would ever think to suffer.” Yumi turned toward the intricate folding screens. “It must have been so lonely for Tsuneoki,” she said softly. “Maybe even lonelier than it was for me.”

  “Yumi—”

  “I understand more than you know what it feels like to lose faith in your brother. It is something I struggle with every day of my life, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed.” She reached for Mariko’s hands. “You don’t have to forgive Kenshin. But try to feel his pain, too. Suffering is never fair to anyone.”

  “I’m not sure it’s possible for me to even begin understanding him.” Mariko took a deep breath. “But I promise I will consider it.”

  “Good.” Yumi smiled. “I promise I will try to do the same.”

  Mariko squeezed their grasped hands. “I should go, before anyone misses me.”

  “I understand,” Yumi said. “Let me find Tsuneoki so that he can pass along the letter he wishes you to deliver.”

  “Of course.” Mariko followed Yumi outside, beneath a small tunnel of wisteria, its pastel blossoms suffusing the air with a musky perfume. Yumi opened another set of sliding doors and led Mariko inside a smaller chamber that smelled of cedar and silk.

  “Wait here,” Yumi said. “I’ll return soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” The maiko floated away like a swan, a knowing smile on her face.

  Mariko glanced around the darkened chamber. It was simple and clean. A place in which Yumi displayed many of her most precious kimono, on cedar stands meant to keep wrinkles at bay. These garments were most likely gifts from wealthy men attempting to entice her into choosing them as her benefactor.

  Mariko paused at one. Studied the herons as they glided across the golden silk.

  “That one is hideous,” a voice murmured from behind her. “It reminds me of death.”

  She turned. “Oh.” The word fell from her lips. Immediately she regretted it.

  I sound like a fool.

  Determined to overcome her misstep, Mariko moved toward Ōkami with the intention of embracing him. But she halted in her tracks. Threaded her hands together. Let her awkwardness and uncertainty win out.

  How do I embrace the boy I love after I’ve willingly married another?

  Ōkami smiled as though he could hear her thoughts. Her eyes drank him in as he shifted before her. Most people would not have noticed—for he did an admirable job of concealing it—but Mariko knew his movements still caused him pain.

  Even absent any light, it was clear bruises lingered on his face. One eye was still swollen. But as soon as he drew close, Ōkami’s features curled upward in a teasing fashion. “After all we’ve been through together—after all the lectures you’ve sent my way—don’t I deserve more than that?”

  “I … am not sure what you mean.”

  His black eyes danced with feeling. “Truly?”

  It wasn’t an innocent question. Nothing Ōkami ever said was innocent.

  Mariko cleared her throat. The happiness she felt at seeing him alive—at seeing him free—made it difficult for her to find the right words. “No. I mean, yes. I mean … there is much
I would like to say. Much I would like to do.” She cleared her throat again.

  “Such as?”

  “I’d—I’d like to run away with you,” she whispered. “Right now. And never turn back.”

  Ōkami lowered his voice to match hers. “I’d like that as well. Where would we go?”

  “To the coast perhaps?”

  “On a ship taking us far away from this cursed place.”

  Mariko frowned. “Of course you would wish to leave.” She did not hide her disappointment.

  “I did wish it before.” Ōkami paused, his expression soft. Searching. “But not anymore.”

  Surprise flashed across her features. “You would stay in Inako if given the choice? Even after everything you’ve lost?” Mariko waited for him to vacillate. To equivocate or make a joke, as he usually did. To her shock, Ōkami nodded without hesitation.

  “Why?” she asked. “What made you change your mind?”

  “My mind hasn’t changed. It’s only unearthed a truth.” He took a careful breath. “The measure of any life is not in greatness. But in goodness.”

  “And you wish to be good?”

  Ōkami’s laugh was warm. “For now.” His expression sobered. “But I would choose otherwise if you truly wished to leave. I would go anywhere with you.”

  “And I would go anywhere with you,” she replied. “But I must stay. I must return to the castle. Tsuneoki asked me to help him.”

  “I know.” All signs of amusement faded from his features. “I hate that we’re sending you back to the castle.” Ōkami grimaced. “Back to … him.”

  Mariko inclined her head in consideration. “Raiden is not what I expected. Not good. But not what I expected.”

  Ōkami stepped closer to her. Close enough to touch. Mariko’s entire being ached for him to reach out so that she could feel the warmth of his skin. Breathe the warm stone and wood smoke of his hair. But she knew if she touched him now it would only bring her pain. There was so much for them both to accomplish. So much for them to lose.

  A light flared in Ōkami’s eyes. “Has he …” The muscles in his neck tightened as though anger had stolen his breath. “Has he treated you with respect?”

  “Yes.”

  Ōkami inhaled through his nose. “I am glad to hear it.”

  “He—” Mariko looked through a fringe of lashes to meet his gaze. “Raiden has been strangely kind to me.”

  Ōkami’s brows shot up. “Though I cannot fathom the possibility, perhaps there’s hope for him yet.”

  “Perhaps.” Mariko smiled wistfully into the darkness. “Why does this feel so odd?” she asked. “Why do I feel so … at a loss?”

  “It feels odd to me because everything I want to say—everything I want to do—seems impossible.”

  Frustration took hold around her heart. “Is it because I am married?”

  “I don’t give a damn about you being married.”

  “Oh,” Mariko said again. The feeling in his voice—the way the words rasped from his throat with such conviction—unmoored her. “Is it because I must lie about owing loyalty to the family of Minamoto Roku?”

  “You owe no man anything, Mariko.”

  “Especially not a man such as he.” Mariko scowled. “Regardless, I will never be one of those ladies at court who worships a man.”

  “No matter the man?” Ōkami joked. “Even if he worshipped you?”

  “No,” Mariko said. “Not even for you.”

  Ōkami grinned. They fell to silence. Not a searching kind of silence, but a silence filled with many things that could not be said. Things that would only cause them both pain. Dreams that might never come to pass. A part of Mariko wished she could simply run away with Ōkami now. This moment. Turn her back on everyone and everything, to start a new life with the boy she loved.

  But the things she’d done—all that she’d fought for and experienced—had proven to her that life was about more than this. More than love. A life absent purpose was not a life Mariko wished to live. Even if she perished while trying to help the Black Clan—even if she lost Ōkami in the process—they both needed to continue this fight.

  “I should go,” Mariko said. “Tsuneoki still needs to give me the message, and if I am gone too long from court, I will be missed.”

  Ōkami said nothing. He ran a hand through his unbound hair, and the familiarity of the motion sent a twinge through Mariko’s chest. Then he met her gaze once more.

  “Thank you for saving me, Mariko.”

  A tentative grin touched her lips. “Thank you for letting yourself be saved.”

  “I am glad I was able to see you tonight,” he said softly.

  Something knifed next to her heart. “As am I.” With that, Mariko gathered the silken folds of her kimono and made her way toward the sliding doors.

  It had been such a strange interaction. So unlike the ease of all their times together in the past. Never before had there been so much feeling between them and no way to express it.

  No. That’s not true.

  Mariko turned back. “I love you. Never forget that.” With that, she reached for the sliding door.

  Ōkami caught her hand. When she met his gaze, he refused to look away. He threaded his fingers through hers. Pulled her close, his eyes gentle, his expression fierce. Then—as if he could not resist—he stroked a thumb along her jaw.

  Mariko melted against him. Felt her body mold to his. She’d heard before that foolish people were burned when they toyed with fire. Perhaps Mariko was a fool who did not care about being burned. For just this moment, she wanted to be consumed in this delicious pain. She leaned into his caress. But she didn’t dare touch him herself. If she did, Mariko knew there would be no way to let go.

  “Will you do something for me?” Ōkami asked.

  She looked up. Nodded as one of his hands settled on the side of her face.

  “I want to hear you call me by my given name,” he said. “Just once.”

  Mariko’s eyes drifted to the exposed skin of his neck. To the horrible brand inked into its side. Then back up to his scarred lips.

  Loyalty.

  “I love you, Takeda Ranmaru.”

  Ōkami smiled. Pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then the tip of her nose. Then the underside of her chin. Mariko gasped at how gently he moved.

  “Right now, I cannot love you as I want,” he whispered against her skin. “So let me worship you for a breath of time.”

  Mariko closed her eyes. Her hands trembled.

  “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said.

  “No,” Mariko breathed. She felt his fingertips drag along the collar of her kimono. He brushed aside the fabric to reveal the hollow at her throat. When he kissed her there—again so softly—Mariko’s fingers turned into fists. In that moment, she could not think of anything she wanted more than to touch him.

  He let the back of his hand skim over the layers of fabric gathered at Mariko’s waist. Then he knelt at her feet and took hold of her ankle, exposing the skin of her leg. Ōkami pressed another kiss on the inside of her knee.

  “Tell me to stop, and I will.” His voice slid over her like silk.

  Mariko opened her eyes. She knew she should tell him to stop. Knew that she’d already allowed things to progress too far. She had important things to do. Tasks that required her utmost focus. She could not afford this distraction. If she did not leave Hanami soon, Raiden might discover her duplicity.

  “No,” Mariko said quietly. Clearly. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  Just this once.

  Ōkami kissed higher. The feeling of his lips on her thigh sent a frisson of warmth through her body. A delicious shiver curled up her spine.

  “Never worship any man, Hattori Mariko.” Ōkami steadied her. “But always be worshipped.” When he moved again, time slowed to a stutter, then sped forward in a rush.

  Mariko closed her eyes and tangled her fingers in his hair. “Yes.”

  The First to Die

&n
bsp; The heavenly sovereign of Wa sat on the Chrysanthemum Throne beneath a silken canopy, his eyes bloodshot, his face wan. Even deep within the walls of the Golden Castle, the wails at the gates could still be heard.

  The pleas.

  The cries for pity.

  Yesterday one of the barriers protecting the center of Inako had been breached. In the aftermath, the main thoroughfare of Hanami had been ransacked. Many imperial guards had been sacrificed trying to secure the district. Though they’d been successful, the truth of their predicament had become inescapable to those within the walls of Heian Castle: their city was being rampaged by looters who moved about without signs of feeling, like the walking dead. Some had begun to say they were cursed. That a demon had overtaken them. The same demon that had plagued the people of the eastern domains for the last few weeks.

  And now these creatures were days—perhaps even hours—from storming the castle gates.

  “My sovereign,” pleaded one of the emperor’s most senior advisors—a man who had served the late emperor for the entirety of his reign. “We must do something. I have been forbidden from leaving the castle grounds. The last message I received from my family was two days ago. I do not know if they are safe.”

  Another advisor to the emperor—one whose daughter had been all but tossed from court the night of the dowager empress’s death—continued. “We cannot let the people’s pleas go unanswered, my sovereign.” His attempts to impart sympathy into his tone were weak at best.

  “Then you go out there and help them, Lord Shimazu,” Roku said coldly. “They say a plague has ravaged the minds of the looters, and you wish me to add to their ranks by sending my imperial guards into the city?” He stood. “Will you be the one to guard me then? Will you offer your life in exchange for mine?”

  Lord Shimazu bowed low, his face draining of color. His pride had undoubtedly been wounded by his daughter’s expulsion from court, but he knew better than to continue challenging the emperor.

  Raiden watched the scene unfold with a look of supreme detachment. Beneath the surface, unease coiled through his stomach. But there was little he could do. It had been enough for him to persuade Roku to hold an audience with his advisors, who’d been imploring Raiden for the last five days to do something. Anything.