Fire lit through her, turning her blood to lava. She didn’t have to think. She didn’t have to consider her answer even for a moment.
She tangled her fingers in his hair. “Yes. I am yours.”
He drew in a deep breath, tension releasing from him. And then he was kissing her again. His lips and tongue teased hers until liquid heat pooled in her center. He found the knot of her obi behind her back and pulled it apart, leaving the length of fabric wrapped around her middle. His mouth drifted to her chin, and she arched her head back as he kissed down her throat to the dip between her collarbones. At the same time, his fingers slid along the side of her neck and caught the collar of her kimono.
He pulled the silk aside, baring her shoulder, and she shivered from the touch of cool air. Then his mouth was moving across her shoulder, his hands roving over her kimono, teasing her through the layers of fabric. Her skin burned. The need for his touch, for his skin on hers, overwhelmed her.
She dragged her fingers through his hair, then reached between their bodies and pulled on the bottom of his kosode, untucking it from his hakama. As the shirt fell open, she slid her hands over the flexing contours of his abdomen and up his chest.
He sat up, pulled off his kosode, and cast it aside. Soft golden light from the lamp across the room cast enticing shadows across his body, highlighting the curves and planes of muscle. His eyes drank her in as he unwound her obi, leaving her kimono bound only by a thin cloth tie around her waist.
He lowered himself onto her, and again his mouth found hers, his hunger growing fiercer. His fingers plucked at the final tie around her waist, pulling the bow undone, and she inhaled sharply as her kimono loosened around her. Then he slid the fabric open, and his hands were on her skin, tracing the lines of her body. She moaned, his touch teasing, exploring, finding the spots that made her gasp.
His fingers ran over her hips, her waist, her chest, then back down again as though memorizing every inch of her. And he kissed her, his mouth hot and hungry, always demanding more. As overwhelming desire drove deep into her core, she kissed him with equal fervor.
She couldn’t speak when he pulled her kimono away entirely. She couldn’t think when he pressed his body into hers, when his kiss and his touch grew wilder, when she dug her fingers into his shoulders, wordlessly demanding more. And she couldn’t breathe at all when there were no longer any clothes separating their skin, when he guided her legs around his waist, when they became one instead of two and he moved inside her. She could only clutch him tightly as pleasure, as need, as desperate love flooded her body and soul until she came apart.
Afterward, she lay quivering in his arms, her body limp and her chest heaving. And while she was still floating on waves of pleasure, he began again. This time, he kissed her with soft, leisurely passion. This time, his mouth tasted her skin with unhurried, seductive precision. This time, his hands roved with delicate, teasing patience until she was shuddering with pleasure beneath his touch and moaning his name.
When, finally, they lay quietly together beneath the blankets he had pulled over them, she could only hold him, exhausted but cocooned in bliss. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect moment. As his fingers traced the length of her back, he held her close, his heart beating beneath her ear.
Her eyelids were so heavy. In a few hours, the sun would rise, her final day would begin, and her time with him would be over. She wiggled closer and he tightened his arms around her, wrapping her in his warmth. She didn’t want to miss a single instant of the time they had left.
“I would have kept you forever, little miko.” His words were soft, almost soundless. “I would have taken you with me wherever the tides of time carried us, and I would have loved you until the very end.”
She stirred, having slipped toward the edge of sleep without realizing it. Her heart ached, love blending with sorrow until it became another shade of love.
His lips brushed her ear. “Whatever tomorrow brings, do not forget that, Emi.”
A strange flutter of anxiety danced through her. “I won’t forget.”
“Do you promise?”
She nuzzled under his chin, needing to be even closer to him. “Yes, I promise.”
He pressed his face into her hair. Held tightly in his arms, warm and exhausted, his light touch on her back soothing her tension away, she fought to hold on. But sleep soon claimed her, and she slipped into dreams for the last time in her mortal life.
Chapter 24
The morning of Emi’s final day dawned clear and beautiful. The sun shone brightly, the sky endless blue, the air chill and crisp.
Kneeling on the cushion of her palanquin, Emi waited patiently. The intricate wooden platform with four posts and a flat roof sat on the ground, surrounded by five sohei in handsome, matching uniforms. In a few minutes, the procession through the shrine grounds would start.
She had woken that morning to Shiro whispering in her ear, telling her that people were coming toward the room and he had to leave. When she’d groggily opened her eyes and seen him fully dressed, he’d stolen a swift farewell kiss, transformed into a fox, and jumped toward the wall, fire flickering over his fur. He had barely vanished through the panel—a magic she had forgotten he possessed—before three miko tapped on her door and hurried inside to wake her.
His absence had brought her an aching chill, but she’d had little time to dwell on it. Her morning had begun with the Fire Blessing ceremony at the shrine, followed by preparations for the solstice—blessings by kannushi, rites of harmony and peace. She had travelled to the tiny waterfall at the east corner of the shrine grounds and stood under the icy flow in a purification ritual of her body.
The morning had slipped away so fast, and then she had been dressed in flowing layers of violet silk, the kimono patterned with stylized dragons—wardens against evil—and her hair swept loose and falling down her back in the style of ancient empresses. White powder had been dusted over her face to pale her skin and light touches of makeup on her eyes and cheeks added contrast and highlighted her features.
Now she sat in the palanquin, the curtains pulled back, with the roof shielding her from the afternoon sun. Around her, sohei and kannushi waited to begin. Others would join the procession as it travelled toward the hall of worship.
It was strange, she thought as the others murmured around her, that she would be so calm today. The conflict that had plagued her for weeks was gone without a trace, and hidden away in her heart was a cloud of secret bliss after her night with Shiro. She would hold that quiet elation close and carry it within her, from now until her last moment, allowing nothing to disturb it.
I would have loved you until the very end.
No matter what happened, their love could never be lost, could never be undone. Her only sorrow was leaving him behind, leaving him alone when she had seen the torment that her loss was already causing him.
“We can’t wait any longer,” a kannushi said in a low, stern voice to the sohei waiting beside her palanquin.
“He’ll be here. Can we give him another five minutes?”
“We were supposed to begin ten minutes ago,” the kannushi said, straightening his formal hat. “We’ll have to—”
“I’m here!” Katsuo’s call cut through the other conversations. He jogged across the trail and stopped beside the palanquin, one hand pressed to his side. “I’m sorry. Just give me a minute.”
“You have thirty seconds,” the kannushi said disapprovingly.
Emi leaned out of the palanquin to see his face. His elaborate violet uniform matched the other five sohei waiting to lift her palanquin.
“Katsuo, what’s wrong?” she asked softly.
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “I … lost track of time.”
She leaned out a little farther and gave him a hard look. “Katsuo.”
He crouched beside her. “There was some sort of commotion at the yokai camp. I went to find out what had happened, but they wouldn’t tell me anything.?
??
“Did they find Izanami?” she gasped. “Has the battle started?”
“I don’t think it was that. All Inari said is that they would ‘figure it out.’”
Nerves prickled through her. “Figure what out?”
“I don’t know. Half the yokai were missing from the camp, so I guess they’re dealing with … whatever it is.” He shrugged helplessly.
“All right,” the kannushi called. “Time to begin!”
Katsuo forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Emi. Whatever it is, the Kunitsukami can handle it. Let’s just get you through the rest of the day.”
As he rose to take his place, she exhaled carefully. Katsuo was right. Whatever had happened, whatever was going on, she had to trust the Kunitsukami to deal with it. She had her own role to fulfill.
The kannushi in front called an order, and Katsuo and the other five sohei took hold of the poles of the palanquin and hoisted it up. She held a corner post as they settled the poles in place on their shoulders. As the drums commenced, the sohei started forward and the rest of the procession of brightly and ornately dressed sohei and miko moved in near flawless synchronization.
The shrine grounds slowly passed as she stared tranquilly, her head held high, her face as expressionless as a noh mask. She hardly noticed the representatives of the Amatsukami join the procession ahead of her, the two kannushi and one miko dressed in the same colored robes and masks she had seen eight days ago. Behind the palanquin, the representatives of the Kunitsukami would have joined the march as well, but she didn’t turn to see. It would have been improper.
As they moved through the grounds, the crowd of spectators grew denser, but they weren’t regular visitors. For the first time in a hundred years, a kamigakari would complete the solstice ceremony and Amaterasu would descend from Takamahara to walk the mortal world. Her servants from across the land had travelled to Shion to witness this long-awaited day. Kannushi, sohei, and miko of all ages, some barely old enough to have begun training, others long retired, watched the kamigakari pass with solemn gravity.
Yet, oddly, whispers trailed the procession and voices rose in hushed surprise after she had passed. This parade was not one of joviality or festivity and should have been conducted in as near to utter silence as possible. She set aside her confusion and focused on maintaining her calm.
The procession reached the main avenue through the grounds. Ahead, framed by towering spruce trees, the grand shrine waited. The courtyard was filled to capacity with servants of Amaterasu, leaving only the empty center path clear. The flagstones broken during the shikigami attack a week ago had been cleared and the gaps packed with sand to level the surface for today’s procession.
Walking in time to the deep boom of drums, her bearers carried the palanquin toward the shrine. The kannushi and sohei preceding her split to either side and came to a halt so only the three Amatsukami representatives and the palanquin entered the courtyard. From among the second half of the procession, only the four Kunitsukami representatives would accompany them.
In lone splendor, they stopped a dozen paces from the first step of the shrine, while the three Amatsukami representatives continued onward. They ascended the steps and stood beside the wide doors. The sohei carefully lowered the palanquin.
Rising from her seat, Emi placed her hand on Katsuo’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she stepped onto the flagstones. It was the only goodbye she could offer with every eye on her. Odd, muted whispers again washed through the spectators.
She took a slow step, then paused. She wasn’t sure what made her look, what drove her to break decorum and turn her head. At the edge of the courtyard, beyond the throng of people, was the stage for performances, and along the front eave of the roof, a dozen glossy black birds perched.
And in their center, a silver-eyed raven watched her.
When she met his gaze, he lowered his head. In unison, the other twelve birds bowed low.
Unable to completely break form, she could only dip her chin in a slight nod before facing the shrine again. Several deep breaths were required to solidify her composure. She had expected Yumei, his daitengu, and all the other yokai to be busy with their final preparations—or whatever that commotion had been about—but he had come to pay his respects.
With another steadying breath, she paced toward the steps. The kannushi in a pale mask and bright yellow robes—representing Izanagi—pulled the door open for her. Leaving the whispering crowd behind, she stepped into the stillness of the shrine. The wooden floors shone beneath the candlelit lamps set around the perimeter of the huge space.
She glided across the long room to the doors at the end, open and waiting. The chamber beyond was significantly smaller, with Amaterasu’s inner shrine filling the entire back wall. A large mirror—her shintai—sat on an elaborate wooden pedestal.
In the center of the square room, a perfect white circle had been drawn on the floor, and eight paper talismans marked the points of a compass around it. In front of the southern talisman, a small, rectangular tray resting on carved feet held a bowl of water, a folded cloth, and a small knife of solid jade.
She stepped carefully over the line and moved to the center, facing the tray of ritual tools. Soft sounds filled the room as the seven representatives of the gods joined her, taking their places outside the circle. The masked kannushi in yellow came to stand directly in front of her.
When the sounds of movement stopped, she sank to her knees. Izanagi’s representative knelt with the paper talisman in front of him, and the others did the same. She lifted the jade knife, dipped the point in the water, then carefully dried it with the cloth. Placing it across her palms, she lifted her hands and bowed her head.
“Izanagi, Amatsukami of the Sky,” she intoned. “On this solstice, Amaterasu asks for your strength. Will you grant it?”
In answer, the masked kannushi offered his right hand. Emi placed her hand beneath his and used the point of the jade knife to pierce the lined center of his palm. When blood welled, she released him and he turned his hand over, holding it above the talisman, upon which the character for “sky” was written. A drop of blood fell, staining the paper red, a symbolic sharing of power.
“I grant my strength to the Amatsukami of the Wind,” the kannushi said.
After bowing her thanks, she again dipped the knife into the water and cleaned it with the cloth. With precise, practiced movements, she shifted the tray of implements over one-eighth of the circle and turned her body to face the southwest point. Placing the knife across her palms, she raised her face to the woman in green robes and an owl mask.
The knife almost fell from her hands.
Waves of tawny hair flowed over the woman’s shoulders and curled across the floor around her. Instead of a human representative, Uzume herself knelt in front of Emi. Here was the source of the whispers that had followed the procession, for after the Kunitsukami of the Wood had passed, everyone had seen the glorious length of her hair.
Her clothing, too, was different from the normal costume worn during festivals. The layers of green silk were luxuriously fine, the floor-length sleeves embroidered with gold thread, and the amber obi around her slim waist shimmered in the candlelight. The mask covering her face was a porcelain masterpiece with markings on the cheeks and forehead that matched the ones Uzume possessed.
Emi lifted the jade knife and bowed her head.
“Uzume, Kunitsukami of the Wood,” she quavered. “On this solstice, Amaterasu asks for your strength. Will you grant it?”
Uzume extended her slender hand. Emi placed hers beneath it and pressed the knife to the goddess’s palm. Blood formed beneath the point. Emi released her hand and Uzume turned it over. A crimson drop fell, landing in the center of the talisman, and soaked into the paper.
The scent of wood and leaves whispered through the room. Power rose through the circle, electrifying the air.
“I grant my strength to the Amatsukami of the Wind,” Uzume said, her swee
t voice hollow behind the mask.
Not a symbolic sharing of power, Emi realized as she stared at the owl mask hiding Uzume’s face, but a true gift of strength from the goddess. Emi bowed her thanks and held the position longer than necessary, wanting her gratitude to be unmistakable. With unsteady hands, she cleaned the knife and turned another one-eighth of the circle to the human representative of Tsukiyomi. She repeated the steps until blood marked the talisman for water and she again cleaned the knife.
Swallowing hard, she turned to face northwest. Even before she raised her head, she knew who knelt before her in brown robes, and she struggled to steady her voice.
“Sarutahiko, Kunitsukami of the Mountain. On this solstice, Amaterasu asks for your strength. Will you grant it?”
He held his hand out to her. She pierced his palm and he let a drop of blood fall onto the talisman between them. The earthy scent of stone rose and power thickened the atmosphere.
“I grant my strength to the Amatsukami of the Wind,” he rumbled solemnly.
Emi bowed long and deep. After cleaning the blade, she turned to the north, where Izanami’s representative in burgundy robes knelt. They performed the ritual and Emi rotated to face the northeastern point of the circle and the waiting god. The ferocious dragon mask covering his face watched her with eerily sightless eyes.
“Susano, Kunitsukami of the Storm,” she said. “On this solstice, Amaterasu asks for your strength. Will you grant it?”
He extended his hand, the silvery-gray sleeve of his robes shimmering like water. She pierced his palm and he let his blood fall upon the talisman. With a crackle of electricity, the cool scent of a thunderstorm permeated the room. The power in the circle heightened even more, singeing her lungs.
From behind his mask, he declared, “I grant my strength to the Amatsukami of the Wind.”