But this demon would serve her well tonight.
She set the creature’s spirit free. The silver of her ring turned to liquid, collecting in a drop at the tip of her finger. As the drop grew to the size of a quail’s egg, a spider took shape. Kanako closed her eyes and joined her mind with it. The sounds around her became muffled. But every movement—even the slightest vibration—passed through her body with a jolt. Now her sight was encumbered, as though she gazed upon the world from behind a row of gemstones.
The only scents that interested her were those of blood and fear.
She scuttled quickly down the halls, her tiny form concealed along the very edges, in the deepest reaches of shadow. Kanako did not need to orient herself, even as this eight-legged creature. She’d dreamed about this night for years.
Several guards were posted outside the dowager empress’s bedchamber. Kanako darted past them unnoticed. She paused beside the sleeping form of the empress. Breathed deeply of her blood and its especially sweet perfume. A part of her wanted Genmei to know she was the one responsible. That the dowager empress’s last moments in this life were granted at Kanako’s leisure. But it was her pride that dictated this wish, and Kanako had learned long ago that pride only served her for the blink of an eye. She’d learned the value of orchestrating disaster from afar.
No, this was not about pride. This was about justice. Justice in the face of unceasing mistreatment. Justice for her son, who’d been an innocent child, suffering for his mother’s choices. Justice for Raiden’s father—the man Kanako had loved—who’d died betrayed and alone.
Even if Genmei never knew who had brought about her death …
Kanako always would.
Born of a Dragon and a Phoenix
A part of Ōkami wished to turn back.
As soon as he made his way outside—toward the structure that had housed his mother’s private rooms—a haunted wind encircled him, dancing about his shoulders as though it were in celebration.
He breathed deeply of the briny air. Refused to allow his fears to control him. Mariko had said it before in the forest. That fear could either feed her or consume her. She chose to let it be a source of strength.
Ōkami, too, decided to embrace his fear.
The sliding doors before him had fallen to disrepair. He kicked them aside, though he knew the motion would cause him pain. It shot up his leg, reminding him of his own mortality. That he lived by the grace of something beyond him.
Upon his first glimpse inside his mother’s chamber, Ōkami narrowed his eyes with irritation. Nothing was there, save an overturned chest coated with cobwebs. Every other corner had been ransacked. The floors were predictably stained with many small scorch marks.
Ōkami started to leave, then thought better of it. Tsuneoki would not have sent him here alone without a reason. Despite his misgivings, he stepped inside. Examined the ceilings. Began pacing the perimeter of the low-ceilinged space. The floorboards squeaked beneath his footsteps; the wood there had turned dangerously soft. Soon the entire structure would fall to ruin. He paused on the remnants of silk drawings. Most of them had been destroyed by vermin and rot.
Ōkami studied the scorch marks at his feet, to see if anything of value had been left behind. Everywhere he stepped, he worried the floor might give way. Then something caught him off guard. Or rather the absence of something. There—in the corner nearest the overturned chest—the floorboards made no protest.
They’d been reinforced from beneath.
Ōkami crouched above them. Placed both hands onto their worn surfaces. Searched the seams until something shifted, clicking open. A hidden compartment, concealed beneath the structure. It was not large. In its depths, Ōkami found a small box of carved acacia wood, meant to survive exposure to the elements. Meant to fend off the intruding damp. On the box’s surface was a dragon guarding a trove of diamonds. To one side, a name had been haphazardly etched into a corner, as though by the hand of a child.
Sena.
Ōkami swallowed. Ran his thumb across his mother’s name. Then he opened the box. Inside he found four silken pouches. He slid open the ties of the first. An object the size of his palm fell into his hand. It appeared to be some kind of fish scale, its surface iridescent, almost like a pearl. The scale itself was hard. Almost as hard as a rock. Never in his life had Ōkami seen anything like it. When he turned it over, he saw a phrase painted in its center by a shaky hand:
Owabi. Deepest apologies.
The next pouch contained a scroll with a waxen seal. Inside it was a poem:
A thing of beauty
A love stronger than fear and
Deeper than the sea
His father’s crest was still attached to the worn washi paper. Ōkami took a careful breath. It had been years since he’d last seen his father’s handwriting. An age since he’d last felt the power of his father’s words. The sight of the love poem Takeda Shingen had sent to Toyotomi Sena brought the ghost of a smile to Ōkami’s face.
Never once had he considered how his parents’ love had come to be.
The third pouch contained two seals wrapped in aging paper. One seal was broken through its center. Split as though it had been trampled beneath a heavy boot. When Ōkami pieced it together, he recognized his mother’s family crest. The dragon had been separated from its trove of diamonds. The second seal caused his heart to lurch in his chest. It was a seal bearing his given name.
Takeda Ranmaru.
It had been wrapped carefully in a perfect square of washi, surrounded by the official markings of the shōgun. His father had written a short message:
For my son, born of a dragon and a phoenix.
Fight not for greatness, but for goodness.
Ōkami’s hands began to shake. It was becoming difficult for him to breathe, as though all the air had been leached from the room. A slew of emotions twisted through him—fury, pain, heartbreak, sadness. Love most of all. He set aside the two seals. With great care, Ōkami opened the last pouch.
A black dagger fell into his hand. A dagger made of a strange rock.
Ōkami had seen a rock like this before. Held it in his hand. It was the kind of dagger he’d used to bind himself with his demon. A thudding ache pulsed through his skull. An ache of understanding. He perused the contents of the box once more. His eyes stopped on the beautiful scale. A scale from a fish larger than any he’d ever seen.
A scale not of this world.
Owabi. Deepest apologies.
Ōkami picked it up. Turned it over in his hand, his thoughts a blur.
His mother had disappeared at sea. They’d never found her body.
Was it possible? Had Toyotomi Sena aligned herself with a demon of the sea? If she had, then where was she? Why had she not come to Ōkami? Why had she not saved his father? Where had she been when they most needed her?
Anger surged through his veins. It washed his sight crimson. In the colors of fire. His father had always said Ōkami was like fire. When he threw the beautiful scale against the wall, it slid to the ground, unbroken. Unscathed.
What was the point in having power if you did not use it to save those you loved?
Fight not for greatness, but for goodness.
Ōkami picked up the fragile piece of washi. Reread his father’s words to him. A drop of moisture landed beside the script. Then another. His tears flowed freely as Ōkami sat back, staring at the contents of this small wooden box. Things of great value to no one. Things of inestimable value to him. It was the work of a moment. A choice made, and a door pushed open.
It was not up to his mother to save him. Just as it was not up to his father to give him answers. That was not the way of life. Only Ōkami could do what needed to be done. It was time for him to forgive his past. Not forget it. Only a fool would forget such things. But if he could not let go of the demons in his past, how could he ever hope to embrace his greatest fear?
Who he was. Who he’d always been. Who he was meant to be.
> In his hands, Takeda Ranmaru held the totality of a life. Of two lives. The beginning and the end of a story. The tale of Sena and Shingen.
But it would not be the end of his parents. Of their family. They’d given their son the gift of great power. Not the kind of power granted by a demon. The kind of power that people laid down their lives to protect.
The power of hope.
The Way of the Warrior
Raiden was torn from his sleep by shouts outside his chamber doors. He wrenched open the papered screens, his blades in his hands.
A servant stared at the ground, his head weighted with sorrow. “Apologies for the hour, my lord. The emperor requests your presence.”
“Has he been injured?” Raiden looped his katana and wakizashi through the cord at his waist.
Fear passing across his features, the servant shook his head. “Please proceed with all haste to the Lotus Pavilion, my lord.”
Behind him, Raiden heard Mariko stir. He turned toward her and wordlessly directed her to remain in the room. Then he stepped into the corridors, ordering the guards to stay posted outside. As he walked toward the wing of Heian Castle that housed the dowager empress’s chambers, the sounds of quiet sobbing grew louder. Ladies of the court sat huddled together in corners, their faces stained with tears, and their hands shaking in anguish.
Raiden halted in his tracks when he saw his younger brother pacing before the entrance of the dowager empress’s bedchamber. The sliding doors had been left wide-open.
It took Raiden only a moment to understand the sight within.
Roku’s mother was sprawled across her bedcovers, as though she’d risen from sleep in a panic and collapsed the moment she’d called for help. Her eyes bulged from her skull, the veins around them bloated and purple. White foam ringed her lips.
She’d died in agony. Undoubtedly poisoned.
Dread rising in his veins, Raiden looked at his younger brother. “My sovereign—”
“It’s not enough for them to die,” Roku began softly, his pacing increasing in intensity with each word he spoke. “I don’t simply want to see them writhe in anguish.”
Unease bade Raiden to keep silent.
The emperor continued his hushed rant, his brow lined with hatred. “They will watch their mothers, their grandmothers, their daughters perish first. I will set fire to their homes. Any man, woman, or child in service to them shall burn in the flames.” Though Roku spoke of atrocities, his voice did not shake. It did not sound the least bit agitated.
Thus far, the only signs Raiden could see of his brother’s fraying emotions were the pacing. The wide-eyed stare. “My sovereign,” he started, “perhaps we—”
“Do not say a word to me!” Roku screamed. “Not a single word!” It ripped from his mouth, echoing into the rafters. The sound startled the ladies of the court, many of whom only cried louder.
“That’s enough.” Roku turned his rage on them. “Not a single one of you were here to save my mother. I should tear out your throats for it.” He grabbed an ornamental vase from its stand and hurled it at the nearest group of terrified young women. A trio of girls who’d long ruled their roost of courtiers. The painted vase shattered in pieces at their feet. “You disgust me,” he shouted. “Every last one of you deserves to die! Blood-sucking whores. You come to my city in the guise of guests. Eat my food at your leisure. Sleep safely in my castle. And when you are most needed, all you can do is put on a performance?” Roku’s chest heaved as he took a breath. “Get out of my sight!”
The girls bit their tongues, refusing to cry out, their figures huddled against each other. The one nearest to Raiden looked to him for guidance. For mercy.
His features stern, Raiden stepped forward. “Leave this place. All of you. If you value your lives, be gone from this castle at once. Say one word to anyone, and I will have you banished from the city.” He towered over them. Though he meant to impart cruelty into his words, his eyes beseeched them to obey without question. To stay safe.
The young women bowed, then fled without a sound.
Raiden turned back to Roku, who glared at nothing, his face twisted in a scowl. “Brother,” he entreated again. “Please accept—”
“Where were you tonight?” Roku said, his voice soft once more.
Raiden blinked. Kept silent.
Roku continued. “Were you with your whore?”
Raiden did not move, nor did he change his expression. He remained quiet and still.
“Was your whore with you the whole night?” Roku asked in a perilous whisper. “Or did you help her kill my mother?”
Raiden inhaled through his nose. His brother—his emperor—had just accused him of treachery. There was nothing more to be done or said. His hand twitched of its own volition, as though it ached to grasp a sword.
“Answer me!” Roku demanded.
“My wife and I were in our chambers asleep, my sovereign. There were guards posted outside all night.”
“Then who killed my mother?”
Raiden inhaled once more. Then he fell to his knees, his body bowed. In a single smooth motion, he removed the swords from his hip and placed them on the floor before him. His eyes locked on the polished wood floor, Raiden spoke. “My sovereign, my loyalty is to you, until my death. If you believe I have betrayed you in any way—failed you in any way—you have but to ask for my life, and I will gladly give it.”
They were the words of a samurai to his sovereign. Ever since Raiden could remember, he’d believed in them. Believed in what they stood for. The honor they imparted. This night, these words rang hollow. Raiden kept his gaze averted. He did not know what his brother might do or say. But Raiden’s honor bound him to his creed. It was the way of the warrior. The only way Raiden knew.
Finally Roku spoke. “Stand, brother.”
Raiden looked up. Rose to his feet.
Still his brother’s features were inscrutable. That was what frightened Raiden most of all. That he no longer knew what his brother thought.
“I appreciate your loyalty,” Roku said. “Find Takeda Ranmaru and the Black Clan. Bring them to me, alive. If you fail, I will accept your offer. After that, I will make sure your wife is placed on your funeral pyre to burn alongside you.”
A murder of crows burst from the ramparts of Heian Castle as though they were fleeing a stampede. They squawked and swooped down into the city as word of the dowager empress’s death flew through the streets of Inako. Whispers of treason trailed in their wake. Of insurrection and unrest.
Then the looting began in the outermost districts.
Strange figures—their motions jerky as though their bodies had been broken and pieced back together—lurched into the winding lanes of the Iwakura ward, moving about as though they saw or cared or felt nothing, like the husk of living humans. They tossed barrels through doors. Broke locks securing valuables. Ignored the shouts of protests.
Some of them even silenced dissenters where they stood. Many of these human husks carried weapons forged by master artisans. Several of them bore the crests of eastern clans loyal to the emperor. Anyone who stood in their way was quickly cut down. As death and devastation raged in the streets, the people of these wards cried out for imperial troops to come to their aid. They rushed toward the city center, abandoning their homes, bringing with them only that which they could carry.
Only to find their paths blocked by lines of silent soldiers.
As word of the mounting unrest carried through Inako—into the homes of the wealthy, closest to the castle gates—the outcry grew. Soon messengers were being dispatched to all corners. Despite the fear and the protests, the looting continued to spread, converging slowly toward the city center. Imperial guards erected barriers preventing entry without expressed permission.
The cries of those left to fend for themselves burgeoned to a roar. Pleas for assistance became shouts of fury. Demands that the emperor open the gates of Heian Castle and offer aid to his people. Protect those in need of it.
/>
As these outcries rose throughout the city, lanterns burst to life. Those still left standing armed and barricaded themselves in their homes, wondering how an enemy force had managed to infiltrate their streets unseen.
In less than two days, Inako was no longer a city of arched bridges and cherry trees. A city of secrets and mystery.
It was a city of death and fear.
Overtaken
When Kenshin woke, he was naked save for a loincloth. His eyes strained at the morning sunlight.
Morning?
No. Afternoon.
He rolled over on his pallet, knocking over an empty sake bottle. A soft sigh emanated from behind him. When he whipped his head around, his sight locked on a girl of no more than twenty, watching him.
Or rather keeping watch over him.
“Are you finally awake?” she asked. She did not call him “my lord,” nor did she offer a hint of obeisance. Her very voice dripped with judgment.
“How long have I been asleep?” He groaned.
The girl was quick to correct him. “You’ve been lying in a drunken stupor for the better part of two days.”
“Who are you?” he said. “And what gives you the right to talk to me like this? Do you know who I am?”
“My name is Kirin. You are in my lady Yumi’s home. And I have cleaned the spittle from your chin and washed your stinking body for the past two days.” She sniffed. “It doesn’t matter who you are, piss is piss.”
At this affront, Kenshin sat up with a start, intent on giving Kirin a sound verbal thrashing. Immediately he regretted the motion. An anvil settled on his skull, grinding into his brain. He groaned again and glanced around the room. It was small but tastefully appointed. The furniture in it was of highest quality, and the bedding opulent, if a bit soiled.
A careful appraisal informed Kenshin that he did, in fact, stink. Troubled by the truth of Kirin’s words, he decided to overlook her insolence for the time being. “Why was I brought here?”