Her body squirmed. Her mind remained still.
Raiden’s mother took in a careful breath. “Do not lose hold on your many strengths, my daughter. I did not know until today how much of a boon you could be to my son. And I am thankful for it.” The enchantress bowed low. Kissed Mariko’s hand.
Then disappeared from the riverbank in a whirl of linin.
A Sleeping Dragon
Two days.
Two days were all Mariko had left to free Ōkami from his cell and help him escape the imperial city. Once she was married to Prince Raiden, she could not spend her nights experimenting with charcoal crystal behind her tansu chest or disappearing beneath the castle to pass an hour in the company of a traitor.
In two days, her nights would be spent with her new husband.
And Ōkami would be free, or he would be dead.
These were not thoughts Mariko cared to dwell upon.
Urgency driving her every deed, she collected more of the crystallized scrapings she’d stolen from beneath Heian Castle. The dark grey flakes smelled of metal and soot. But she knew as well as any how they could be highly flammable when touched by heat in just the right way.
Mariko took the small porcelain bowl she’d pilfered from her evening meal. She added whatever she could find to the charcoal flakes and tested the mixture. First she used nightingale dung. Then she stirred in salt crystals. Ground the shavings down to a powder.
Still they did not produce enough heat to spark.
What she wouldn’t give for one of the pale purple flowers that hung above the hot springs near the Black Clan’s encampment.
A memory flashed through her mind. Pinked her cheeks.
Those hot springs had proven dangerous on more than one occasion. For more than one reason. The memories they conjured were moments of brightness for her. The touch of her hand to Ōkami’s bare chest. The brush of his fingertips down her spine.
The feel of his lips upon hers.
To me, you are magic.
A sadness weighed down on her like an anchor in the sea. Mariko quickly shoved it aside before it could find purchase. There was no need to dwell on the past. If she wanted the boy she loved to have any kind of a future, she needed to remain cold. Detached. Her purpose was not to simply be any man’s bride. If she could not have the boy she wanted—the life she wanted—she would forge her own path.
She would be more.
Mariko decided to separate the lighter crystals from the darkened dregs. She poured water into the small ceramic bowl, then placed it above a taper, suspending its brim between two lacquered chopsticks. In silence, she let the water rise to a low boil above the candle, then deposited the charcoal crystals inside, careful to watch the water level so that nothing burned.
After the liquid had boiled away, she was left with crystals resembling the kind of rock salt used to keep horses from dehydrating on long journeys. Mariko took a single crystal and balanced it on the edge of a cosmetics brush. Using the firestones she’d pilfered from a shrine to the late emperor, she lit the crystal. It sparked hot, crisping the end of the brush.
A grin began to form on her lips. Mariko proceeded to boil the remaining charcoal flecks until a small amount of refined crystal formed a pile on top of a piece of washi paper. But would it be enough heat to break the chains binding Ōkami? How many crystals would be needed to destroy the tumblers? It was key for a bright flash of fire to combat the brisk cold of the hole Ōkami had dug in his cell. That combination of extremes should weaken the metal.
There is only one way to know for certain.
With that, Mariko gathered everything in a bundle and slipped out into the night.
She moved between the shadows of Heian Castle, her steps measured. Despite the alarming incident from the night prior, Mariko had yet to encounter a guard. Perhaps that fact made her bold.
Perhaps it made her foolish.
Mariko glided down the stairs into the warren of underground tunnels, her skin tingling with awareness. Tonight a greater sense of importance dictated her every move. Time was not on her side. She made her way down the narrow corridor—counting each of her steps—toward the widening cavern before the two barred cells.
As she stepped from the shadows near the foot of the stairs, sounds of movement caught her attention. The rumble of male voices. Her pulse leapt in her throat, and fear began churning through her veins.
Someone was beside Ōkami’s cell.
Just as silently as she’d come, Mariko turned back, with a mind to retrace her steps. Then—at the top of the stairs above—another torchlight blazed into view. If she did not hide immediately, she would be trapped.
Breathe. This is exactly why I sought to learn all I could about this place.
She closed her eyes and prepared to count her paces. Eight steps to the left. Three steps into a corner encased by darkness, where she could crouch unseen. It would be simple to keep track of where she moved. From the beginning, Mariko had known that—if she was going to help Ōkami escape—she would need to move about freely without carrying a source of light that could catch unwanted attention.
As she began to turn left by the stack of discarded charcoal, a hand shot from the shadows and gripped her by the arm, thrusting her into the inky space beneath the stairs.
She almost squealed. Then immediately fought back. Her fists connected with a broad male chest. A man who smelled suspiciously of sake. It did not matter. Mariko leveled a kick at her assailant’s shins, then twisted her wrist in an attempt to break free. She angled her elbow—the hardest part of her body—and positioned it to slam in his face.
Grunting, the man grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her arm behind her back. Mariko refused to cry out at first. But he applied more pressure, until she relented with a gasp.
They both froze beneath the stairs until the man with the torch—the one who’d caught Mariko’s attention mere moments before—descended, the dust of his heavy footsteps powdering their hair. His gait was hefty, his movements purposeful. Undoubtedly a soldier. The man paused at the bottom of the staircase and then proceeded down the corridor toward Ōkami’s cell. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mariko attempted to break free again. Her assailant tightened his grip, almost to the point of pain.
“How dare you?” Mariko whispered, her voice sounding tinny and ineffectual.
Her assailant shoved her forward, relinquishing his hold on her arms. “How dare I?” He spat the last word.
Kenshin.
Mariko whirled in place. “You’re following me? Were you following me last night, too?”
“You’re fortunate I did,” Kenshin rasped back. “If I hadn’t, you would have been caught. An imperial patrol was only steps away from finding you. I’m following you now to make sure nothing else happens to you.”
She pushed him. He did not budge. Kenshin always held himself like a stone. “Why?” Mariko demanded. “Why would you … help me?”
“Because you’re as big a fool as Father always said you were.” Her brother spoke in hushed tones, each of his words sharp. “And because … I can’t bear to lose you.”
Elevated voices emanated from the darkness beyond, near Ōkami’s cell. Kenshin stared at her, his eyes glittering with feeling. They remained silent. Not even a breath could be heard between them, but her brother’s anguish felt alive, as though it had taken on its own form. They waited until the voices in the distance dropped, becoming indistinguishable once more. Until sounds of a skirmish wound through the space.
They were beating Ōkami again. Simply for sport.
Mariko closed her eyes, taking note of every blow. Shuddering as though they’d been delivered to her. Now that her brother had discovered her truth, she no longer needed to conceal her feelings. When Ōkami finally cried out, Mariko turned in place to hide a rush of hot tears, knowing that the sound of his suffering likely saved them from being discovered. Again Ōkami helped her, even when he did not know it.
“You’re going to b
e caught,” Kenshin said softly.
Mariko composed herself, brushing away her brimming tears. “No, I’m not.”
“Takeda Ranmaru could be killed at any moment. He’s been beaten enough to die, but still he clings stubbornly to life. The boy could be executed tomorrow.” Kenshin paused. “Why risk yourself for him?”
“He won’t be executed tomorrow,” Mariko said, facing Kenshin. “He’ll be executed after my wedding.”
Her brother’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“I told Raiden I didn’t want a spectacle to be made of his death. I didn’t want his followers making him a martyr to their cause. So I asked Raiden to instead end his life quietly on the evening of our wedding day, when the attention of the public would be absorbed in more joyous festivities.” Mariko glared through the darkness, trying not to flinch at the unending blows. “Ōkami will be spared until then.”
“And then what do you intend to do?”
Mariko did not respond.
Kenshin continued. “Why are you here? Why have you come here for the past few nights, if not to see him?”
Again no response.
At that, Kenshin gripped Mariko by the wrist. Grim acceptance lined his features. When he grasped the hanging fabric of her sleeve, his touch turned rough.
“If you’re going to dress as a man, be prepared to be treated as one.” Kenshin pushed her into the rough stone wall at her back as he searched her sleeves, like he would a thief’s. When he found nothing, he patted Mariko’s sides until he found the pouch she’d concealed in her kosode.
Her cheeks aflame with indignation, Mariko reacted without thought. The blow she leveled at her brother’s face caught him by surprise. He stumbled back, his eyes wide.
“If you wanted to know if I had hidden something, you should have asked.” Mariko ripped the small pouch from beneath her kosode and dropped it at Kenshin’s feet. She fought to conceal the despair clawing at her stomach, knowing how desperately Ōkami needed to escape, and how difficult it would be to remake the crystals and pilfer another set of firestones.
Anger blazed across Kenshin’s face. For an instant, Mariko thought he might strike back at her, but his expression turned cool and distant, just as it had every other time they’d spoken since arriving in Inako. “Return to your room, Mariko.”
Rage mingled with her despair. The tears threatened to fall in earnest. “There is a special place in Yomi for those who fail their families.”
“And there is a special place in Yomi for those who lie to theirs.”
Mariko kept silent, her chin quivering.
Her brother’s features turned forbidding. “Don’t return to this part of the castle. There is nothing for you here. You risk your life with this behavior, and I won’t save you again. You don’t deserve to be saved. What you’ve done rejects everything you’ve been raised to be. It is an insult to our family. Would you have us—our mother, our father—all perish for your childish notion of love?” Kenshin asked in a harsh whisper.
Just as he finished speaking, the blows and the taunting echoing from beyond the corridor ceased as abruptly as they had begun. Mariko and Kenshin stared at each other, one imploring through the silence, the other fighting through her tears.
Mariko’s fists balled at her sides. “I would rather die for love than stand by and watch my love perish.”
At that, Kenshin raised a hand to strike her. Mariko did not flinch. He caught himself just before his hand connected with his sister’s face. Shaking, he pulled back. Detached. Nothing could mar the coolness of his affect. It was as though Kenshin had been carved from an ancient tree. “I will make sure guards are posted outside your chamber from now on.”
Lines of anguish collected around Mariko’s features. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks as she spun away from her brother. Away from this last—most precious—chance.
Kenshin waited until Mariko was out of sight.
He stood in the shadows and let the stabbing pain inside him fade with each of his breaths. Amaya’s smile beckoned to him. Her laughter echoed in his ears, his failure searing through his memories. Mariko did not know what had happened to Amaya. She’d been ignorant of what Kenshin had done. What he’d failed to do. And still it was as though it were written in black ink across his forehead.
In silence, Kenshin unwrapped the package Mariko had hidden away to deliver to the son of Takeda Shingen. The boy she loved. Kenshin had thought it might contain a key, or maybe some form of nourishment. It would be all but impossible for Mariko to pilfer a key, since the only two keys in existence belonged to the emperor and his elder brother. But if anyone could purloin an item not meant for her use, it would be Mariko.
Inside the pouch he discovered pale grey crystals, not unlike the kind collected from the salt flats. He’d come across something similar in a faraway desert by the Sendai river when his family had traveled there years ago. Beside these crystals was a small piece of waxen paper and two firestones.
Whatever device Mariko had invented with the intention of helping Takeda Ranmaru, it was sure to be elaborate and ingenious. Kenshin tucked the small package into the sleeve of his kosode and moved through the pathway beneath Heian Castle toward the prisoner in his cell.
Kenshin knew from his conversations with the emperor that Roku would visit Ranmaru each night and reopen all manner of wounds. Tonight the emperor had come later than usual to inflict his particular brand of torture. It was cruel and unbecoming behavior for a heavenly sovereign, but the Dragon of Kai had realized almost as soon as he arrived to the imperial city that the new emperor was not a man of honor, but rather one of duplicity.
This boy Kenshin was bound to serve.
At this thought, a sigh seemed to emanate from behind him. The gust of air that followed was icy. It touched the back of his neck before sliding down his spine in a cold caress. The voice carried on it was a garbled one, but a thought settled at the back of his skull. A thought of blood and death. Kenshin shook it off with a toss of his head, the troubling feeling still scraping at his skin. He moved forward in time to hear the sound of fists against flesh resume.
Pleased to see Kenshin join in this nightly ritual, the emperor nodded at him appreciatively.
To his credit, the son of Takeda Shingen had stopped crying out. In truth, Kenshin suspected he might not live to Mariko’s wedding day, despite her attempts to spare him. While the emperor continued taunting his prisoner, Kenshin waited to one side with an air of nonchalance. The smell of blood saturated the space with salt and copper.
Kenshin remained unaffected as he watched the son of the last shōgun take his punishment. Wondered what kind of boy existed beneath that battered shell. There was defiance there. Strength. These were surely the reasons the emperor could not bear to leave Takeda Ranmaru be. What was it Mariko had called him?
Ōkami. The wolf.
Wolves were pack animals. They smelled blood from leagues away. Tracked it for days, even through snow and through sleet. Fought to defend their own without hesitation or remorse.
And they did not leave a member of their pack behind.
When the emperor had had his fill of bloodshed, he ordered his guards to stand down. The soldiers locked Ranmaru’s cell behind them and left after bowing to Kenshin, who lingered behind. As Roku took his leave, he paused, an eyebrow arched in question. “You wish to remain here, Kenshin-sama?”
“I wish to enact my own punishment on this boy for what he did to my sister.” Kenshin bowed low. “If you would grant me permission, my sovereign.”
Roku’s expression remained unreadable. “By all means.” He led his soldiers down the corridor toward the stairs, a pleasant smile on his face. As though he were a child recently gifted with a sweet treat.
Kenshin moved closer to the barred cell. Over his shoulder he heard the sound of returning footsteps. Though the emperor had given the impression of trust, Roku had sent one of his soldiers to keep watch over Kenshin. Which meant the emperor did not wish for him
to be alone with the prisoner, despite all that Kenshin had done to demonstrate his loyalty. Despite the way he’d threatened his sister. Even if he meant to protect Mariko by doing so, it did not erase his pain when he thought of her words.
I would rather die for love than stand by and watch my love perish.
Kenshin listened to the wheeze of Takeda Ranmaru’s breath. The struggle as he tried to right himself and no longer choke on the blood dripping from his nose and mouth. “I hear you are to be my sister’s wedding gift.”
Takeda Ranmaru coughed. It sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“Don’t try to escape,” Kenshin continued, his tone hollow. “Don’t fight back. If you attempt to harm any member of my family ever again, I will flay you alive and wear your skin as a cloak.”
The guard settled to one side as Kenshin bent to pick up a small stone resting between his feet. He tossed it through the bars, striking the boy’s shoulder. Then he picked up another one. Perhaps it was dishonorable to behave in such a fashion. But Kenshin’s pain eclipsed his sense of propriety. He lobbed another small stone at the broken young man inside the cell. “I am grateful you will no longer be a torment to my family.”
“As am I.” Takeda Ranmaru coughed again. “I wish to be rid of the cursed Hattori clan as soon as possible.”
Kenshin pitched another stone. It ricocheted off the wall near Ranmaru’s head. “And we wish to be rid of you.” He crouched even lower and threw the small pouch he’d taken from Mariko through the doors. It struck the boy’s thigh.
The son of Takeda Shingen had the good grace to flinch, though a flash of recognition passed across his face. He lifted his eyes to meet those of Kenshin.
Then he nodded once.
Kenshin took to his feet, his fists at his sides. “I wish you to disappear from our lives, Takeda Ranmaru. Forever.”