Shiro calmly repeated, “Do you have a better idea?”
“Kill Izanami now. Do not allow her to open the Bridge.”
“Then what? We will have delayed her for a few years or a few centuries, but we’ll still have to attempt this ‘insane’ plan if we ever intend to stop her for good.”
“At least we would be better prepared.”
“Or we could be even less prepared than we are now. Maybe next time Izanami will kill us before the solstice. Our odds won’t get better. They’ll only get worse.”
Susano glowered at Shiro. “With more time, we could—”
Shiro’s eyes flared with a crimson glow. Heat swept through the room on a wave of translucent flames.
“On the eve of this world’s destruction, caution will be our death sentence.” Ice and fire coated his dangerous, crooning tones. “Though it may be the path of greatest risk, it is the only path that leads to victory.”
“Ah,” Uzume sighed. “Welcome back, Inari.”
His gaze slid to her. “I am not quite myself yet, Uzume.”
“Close though, my dearest fox. We have missed you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Susano growled.
Emi shrank in her spot. Inari’s power, his demeanor, the menacing aura that clung to him—she didn’t know this yokai. Uzume, on the other hand, found this side of him comfortingly familiar. And that frightened Emi even more.
Then Inari turned to her and she froze where she sat, not even capable of breathing as he dissected her heart and soul with a mere glance.
“What of you, little miko?” he asked. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”
Little miko. He had called her “little miko.” She never would have expected that endearment from Inari. She stared at him, and suddenly, she could see Shiro too. She could see him in the slight twitch of a smile, in the angle of his ears, in the tilt of his head. The line between his two selves was blurring.
No, she realized. The line was already gone. And she grew even more flustered as her fingers itched to reach across the table and touch him, to discover him anew.
She straightened, forcing her composure back into place. “I’m not sure. I think you’re right that anything besides destroying the Bridge will just delay Izanami. But”—she swallowed—“the idea of letting Izanami open it before we try to stop her is …”
She trailed off, not quite willing to say “terrifying” in the presence of so many powerful warriors. Sarutahiko folded his hands on the tabletop, drawing Inari’s attention. Everyone in the room focused on the Kunitsukami leader.
“I agree with Inari’s assessment,” he said in his slow, deep tones. “True victory can only be achieved through the destruction of the Bridge. However, I also agree with Susano that the risks of Inari’s proposal are unacceptable.”
He turned to Inari. “With only days to prepare, minimal forces, and no knowledge of how Izanami will defend against us, to allow her to open the Bridge is unconscionable. Once the immediate threat has been diverted, we can further explore whether this danger can be permanently abolished.”
Inari’s ears flattened to his head. “We have already disrupted Izanami’s plans, and we cannot afford to discard that advantage. She will not repeat her mistakes.”
“Even if we are condemned to an eternal struggle we can never truly win, our first priority is to protect this world,” Sarutahiko said with finality. He looked at the rest of the gathered Kunitsukami and yokai. “To defeat Izanami and Izanagi, our strategy must be infallible.”
As he and the others discussed possible tactics, Inari sat stiffly, his relaxed confidence replaced by icy disapproval that cast a ruthless, almost merciless severity upon his features. He said nothing as his fellow Kunitsukami strategized, then turned to her.
A moment before, she would have said she was relieved that Sarutahiko had chosen the safer—though still alarmingly perilous—route. But when her eyes met Inari’s, unexpected dread pierced her—the sudden fear that they were making a terrible mistake.
Chapter 21
Silence was a rare commodity Emi had come to cherish over the last few days. She knelt in the corner of Amaterasu’s sprawling suite, facing the small personal shrine she’d set up. A mirror the size of her palm, sparkling in the morning light shining through the windows, sat in front of a tiny replica of a shrine building.
With her hands folded neatly on her lap, she let her thoughts wander. She had finished two hours of meditation and now waited for a miko to fetch her for whatever was next in her schedule. At dawn she had completed the blessing ceremony for the element of Storm and tomorrow morning she would perform the final blessing ceremony for Fire. A procession through the grounds would follow, a public sendoff of sorts. After that, she would enter the Amaterasu shrine, where she would spend the rest of the day alone in meditation.
And then her final night would begin.
Under normal circumstances, sunset would bring the other Amatsukami to the shrine. They would accompany the kamigakari to the ceremony location, and when the night was at its deepest, Amaterasu would descend into her new host.
But this solstice would be different. Instead of three Amatsukami, the four Kunitsukami and their vassals would escort Emi. And instead of the ceremony location, they would travel to the sacred place where Izanami intended to open the Bridge. Exactly when and where Amaterasu would descend, Emi didn’t know. But at some point during the night after next, her life would end.
Over the past four days, the Kunitsukami and their vassals had sought Izanami’s hidden location. They had been unsuccessful in locating her, Izanagi, or Tsukiyomi. The Kunitsukami had shifted their approach and now planned to ambush their foes the moment they appeared at the sacred Bridge site. With only thirty-six hours left, the Kunitsukami and their vassals were occupied with feverish preparations—gathering additional warriors, creating spells, and honing weapons.
Emi didn’t know how many yokai the Kunitsukami had brought together in such a short time. She had seen none of this herself and knew only what Katsuo and Nanako had told her. She’d barely even seen Shiro.
She tried not to let it bother her. She tried to keep the hurt buried deep. She’d had more than enough to keep her busy and distracted these past days, and never before had she been so committed in her kamigakari duties. Her harmony with Amaterasu’s ki and spirit needed to be perfect by the solstice. Now, more than ever, so much counted on the Amatsukami’s successful descension.
Despite Amaterasu’s promise to Shiro, Emi did not expect to see the end of their battle against Izanami. But it didn’t matter. Emi’s focus was honed on her role. She didn’t trust her strength, her skill in battle, or her control over the wind. She couldn’t be relied on to help defeat Izanami. But she’d been a kamigakari for ten years, and she knew she could do that perfectly.
She didn’t allow herself to consider that her life would end in less than two days. Any soldier stepping into combat expected that day to be his last. This was no different.
Opening her eyes, she rose to her feet and stretched. The room, beautiful but sparse, sent a pang of loneliness through her. Nanako and Katsuo had been her closest companions during her preparations, and though they couldn’t see her often, their friendship had carried her through the dark moments.
A loud knock interrupted her thoughts and she quickly called, “Come in.”
The door slid open and Nanako bustled inside, carrying a large cloth bag and an armful of clothing.
“Emi,” she said briskly. “Are you finished meditating? Excellent. I have a change of clothes for you.”
“A change of clothes for what?” Emi asked, wondering what ceremony she could be forgetting—and why Nanako was helping her instead of Miko Tamaki, who had been handling her schedule all week.
“Hurry up. We don’t have time for discussion.”
Obediently, she stripped to her underclothes while Nanako set down her load and picked up a folded, pale blue article. The miko turned as she shook o
ut the garment and held it up.
“But that …” Emi’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “That’s a sundress.”
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Nanako held it out. “Now put it on.”
“But why—”
“You need to go on a brief outing off shrine grounds,” Nanako explained impatiently. “And we don’t want anyone recognizing you.”
Emi’s frown deepened. “Leave the grounds? But—”
“You’re already late. I’ll explain the rest later.” The stubborn glint in Nanako’s eyes intensified. “Just put it on.”
Fretting over why she needed to leave the shrine, Emi pulled the dress on over her head. As the light cotton fabric settled against her skin, she smiled despite her apprehension. After tying the halter straps behind her neck, she lifted the airy skirt and swished it. The dress was pale sky blue at the top and deepened to vibrant cobalt at the calf-length hem. She resisted the urge to twirl.
“Lovely,” Nanako repeated, passing her a thin white sweater that buttoned in the front. While Emi pulled it on, the miko produced a matching ribbon and tied Emi’s hair at the nape of her neck.
“Nanako, why do I need to—”
“Last thing,” Nanako interrupted, pulling something from her bag. She placed a sunhat with a wide, floppy brim on Emi’s head. Looking her over, the miko beamed, then hastily cleared her expression. “You definitely won’t be recognized.”
“But where—”
“Come along.” Nanako pulled her bag back onto her shoulder and tugged Emi toward the door. “There isn’t time to discuss every detail!”
“We haven’t discussed any details,” Emi muttered, following the miko along the corridor. The dress swished delightfully around her legs with each step. She grimaced at her bare feet; tabi socks would have looked ridiculous with a sundress but she felt oddly naked without them. She’d never in her life worn an outfit like this.
When they reached the entryway, Nanako dug into her oversized bag and pulled out a pair of modern flip-flops. “Here.”
Emi scrunched her nose as she set the sandals down and stepped into the oddly squishy footwear.
Nanako threw the door open, revealing Katsuo standing at the bottom of the steps in the sunlight. He looked up and grinned broadly. As his gaze swept over Emi’s new attire, a faint blush stained his cheeks.
“You look wonderful, Emi,” he said as she and Nanako joined him.
“I look ridiculous. It’s December, not July.”
“It’s a perfect disguise,” Nanako announced. “No one will recognize her.”
Katsuo grinned again as Nanako handed him her bag.
“Have fun, Emi,” the miko told her. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Fun?” Emi repeated blankly.
“Come on,” Katsuo said, waving her forward as Nanako hurried up the steps and disappeared inside the hall. “You’re already late.”
“Late for what?” Emi demanded, exasperated.
“You’ll see.”
Without a word, he strode off. Emi rushed after him, her sandals snapping against her heels. The miko and sohei in the courtyard glanced at them curiously but no one commented as he led her out the gate and onto the path leading toward the hall of worship. As she followed, her frustration kindled into anger. He was wearing his usual uniform. Why was she the one dressed up like a life-sized doll? As cute as the sundress and hat were, neither was appropriate for winter. Her legs were freezing and even with the sweater, her arms were going numb from the brisk breeze.
Katsuo swung off the main path, heading past the stable and deserted training arena. When he angled toward the trees to the north, her anger morphed back to apprehension.
“Katsuo …”
“Trust me, Emi.”
She hastened after him, keeping to the center of the path where the snow had been trampled flat. They passed under the first of the trees, the towering spruces casting deep shadows over the footpath.
A dozen paces ahead, Shiro leaned against a thick tree trunk, waiting amongst the shadows. Her heart fluttered strangely at the sight of him.
“Finally,” he said when they drew closer. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“Just be glad we pulled it off,” Katsuo retorted, sounding cheerful despite his words. He handed Shiro Nanako’s bag. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“Have a little faith.”
Katsuo took Emi’s arm and pulled her forward, giving her a little push in Shiro’s direction. She looked back and forth between them, too many questions crowding in her head. She didn’t know which answer to demand first.
“Have fun, Emi,” Katsuo said, echoing Nanako’s parting words. He glanced at Shiro. “Keep her safe, yokai.”
Shiro smirked at Katsuo’s disrespect. With a farewell wave, Katsuo jogged back up the path and vanished in the bright sunlight beyond the shelter of the trees.
“Shiro,” Emi said flatly, folding her arms. “What is going on?”
His gaze slid down her body and back up again, leisurely taking in every detail, and heat rushed into her face. She was suddenly very aware of how little fabric covered her body compared to her usual miko uniform, and how closely the dress hugged her shape.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “We don’t have all day.”
“All day for what?”
Without answering, he turned down the path. A hundred yards into the trees, the slight but ever-present warmth of sacred ground faded. Shortly afterward, the trail was no longer clear and she had to tread carefully over packed snow. Her toes were frozen.
When murmuring voices reached her ears, she looked up in surprise.
Beyond a break in the trees, a long tent, tall enough to stand inside, had been set up in the snow. In the clearing around it, yokai mingled—at least triple the number of vassals the Kunitsukami had originally brought with them to Shion.
She strove not to gawk at the yokai as Shiro led her closer. They passed two almost identical males in samurai armor, human in shape but possessing the feathered heads and sharp beaks of eagles, their large wings tucked against their backs. A woman stood alone, dressed in a wholly inappropriate twelve-layered kimono—the attire of queens and empresses—with a plain white mask covering her face. From out of the trees, a scaled dragon tail—dark red as opposed to Susano’s blue scales and quite a bit smaller—twitched idly, the rest of the beast hidden in the shadows.
As she composed her expression, she spotted a cluster of four yokai speaking quietly together. Familiar tiger ears protruded from the long silver hair of the tall male with his back to her.
“Is that Byakko?” she gasped.
At the sound of his name, he turned. Dark stripes marked his cheeks, and when he saw her, his golden eyes dimmed. Byakko strode toward them, his three companions trailing behind. Halting in front of Emi, he bent into the lowest of bows, his ponytail swinging over his shoulder.
“I am relieved to see you well, Emi,” he murmured. “I owe you great reparation.”
“Your debt to me and Susano comes first,” Shiro replied before Emi could, his tone cold and merciless. “You can worry about your betrayal of Amaterasu and her kamigakari if you survive the solstice.”
Byakko straightened, his gaze submissively downcast.
Emi looked uncertainly between them, then muttered, “He was saving his son.”
One of his companions, a stunning woman with apple-red hair down to her waist, smoothed the front of her kimono. “One does not cross a Kunitsukami without cost, as he knows.”
“I accept the consequences of my actions,” Byakko murmured.
“The other Shijin are welcome allies,” Shiro said to the woman. “I’m looking forward to fighting alongside you and Genbu.”
At Emi’s questioning look, Byakko turned toward his companions. Aside from the redheaded woman, he was accompanied by a dark-haired man who stood still and silent, unblinkingly watching Emi with mismatched eyes—one as black as pitch,
the other a gray almost as pale as Yumei’s silver irises. On his other side was a petite woman with chin-length hair of an unlikely azure shade and an impish face.
“Genbu wields the cold as his element,” Byakko explained, indicating the dark man. He then nodded at the redhead. “And Suzaku shares the same affinity for fire as Inari. They will assist him in defeating Izanagi.”
“Izanagi,” Emi repeated, anxious at the thought of Shiro again facing the Amatsukami’s overwhelming power of the sun.
Suzaku folded her hands primly in front of her. “It will be most interesting. Will it not, Genbu?”
Still staring at Emi, the dark yokai said nothing.
Shiro stepped between her and Genbu and herded her away. “The morning dwindles, little miko. Come on.”
Swinging Nanako’s bag over one shoulder, he headed for the tent. A large, dark-striped cat lay nearby, blue flames flickering over the ends of its two tails like fiery tufts. Several yokai stood just inside, their backs to the opening. Shiro paused and waited for them to move.
“Oy.” He gave the yokai in front of him a sharp shove to the shoulder. “Out of the way, featherbrain.”
The male snarled and spun around, the pair of swords on his left hip clattering together. The other two near the tent entrance also turned, and Emi’s breath caught as she spotted the black feathers mixed with their dark hair behind matching pointed ears.
While she was still staring, Shiro pushed through the cluster of yokai, heading for the table in the center, where more warriors were gathered.
“Your daitengu are an unruly bunch, Yumei,” Shiro complained.
The Tengu glanced up from a map. Gathered with him were more dark-haired daitengu and several of Sarutahiko’s other vassals. Yumei rose from the table, responding to Shiro in a voice too low for Emi to hear.
The yokai Shiro had pushed put a hand on his hip. “So this is the kamigakari?”
His question drew Emi’s attention, and she forced her spine straight as his garnet-red eyes dropped, his look far different from Shiro’s—more like a wolf sizing up an injured lamb.