“We must hurry,” Raiden said. “We will need to find my mother. Mariko must go into hiding at once, before Roku discovers she is gone.”
As Mariko passed by him, she stopped. Turned to look up at his face.
“Thank you, Raiden.”
He nodded. Then they raced through the labyrinth and made their way up the stairs. Though Raiden knew better than to let his guard down for even an instant, he had not been expecting it. That was why he did not realize what had happened until it was too late.
The dagger lodged itself deep within Raiden’s breastplate, its tip sinking into his skin with precision. It stopped Raiden mid-step, his legs faltering. But he did not fall immediately. A figure hurled itself from the darkness. The mad screech that followed turned Raiden’s blood to ice.
His brother. Roku.
“Raiden!” Mariko yelled.
Immediately Takeda Ranmaru tore the Fūrinkazan from his scabbard. Its blade glowed white. Roku grabbed the hilt of the dagger buried in Raiden’s chest, trying to tear it free. When it refused to dislodge, he shoved Raiden at Lord Ranmaru, who immediate drew his weapon back so as not to injure Raiden.
The distraction gave Roku all the time he needed.
He turned on Mariko and attacked her.
In the next instant, Mariko grabbed the front of Roku’s stained robe. He lunged for her throat, their bodies careening to the stone floor. Mariko used the momentum to propel them further, their bodies rolling as they struggled for control.
They did not slow down as they moved toward the stairs.
The daughter of Hattori Kano intended to throw their bodies into the underbelly of the castle. Takeda Ranmaru realized the truth in the same instant as Raiden.
He caught Mariko by the arm, yanking her back.
Raiden limped toward his brother, whose body had rolled to a halt a hairsbreadth from the top of the stairs.
“Traitor,” Roku seethed. Blood dripped from his cracked lips. His chest moved in shallow breaths. “You think this is the end?” He coughed. “I will kill you, and I will watch your mother burn. Your whore wife will die alongside her. I will return to the city and take what is rightfully—”
Raiden kicked him down the stairs.
It was not a quick death. The heavenly sovereign of Wa did not go quietly. His screams echoed into the rafters, reverberating off the stones. The memory of his brother’s cries would undoubtedly haunt Raiden for many years to come.
But when the Emperor of Wa stilled at the bottom of the stairs, it was not sadness that tore at Raiden’s throat.
It was the bitter taste of relief.
Death’s Due
Kanako’s little sparrow delivered the news to her in the moon pavilion. It had spied on Raiden when her son had met with the son of Takeda Shingen. It watched when they descended into the bowels of Heian Castle and emerged not long after with Hattori Mariko in tow. It passed along the message that Raiden had been wounded, but would live.
It informed Kanako that Minamoto Roku was no more.
Finally. The ox had put an end to the reign of the rat.
Her lips parched and her throat dry, Kanako listened. She struggled to sit up. Called for help. Called for someone—anyone—to bear witness to her triumph. But it had taken nearly all her strength to move from her chambers to the moon pavilion.
No one heard her feeble cries. No one came to her aid. Why would they?
She’d arrived to Inako alone, many years ago. Disdained any advice or help. Permitted herself to be shunned at court, all in service to a great goal.
Now her son would become emperor.
It was time for Kanako to put an end to the looters and the distractions. Their purpose had been served. Kanako pulled her thoughts into a tight ball deep in her stomach, intent on opening her mind and releasing these souls from their bonds.
But she did not have the strength.
Again she called for help.
Again no one responded.
Kanako wished Raiden were here. A slow panic wrapped around her like a snake’s deadly vise. She could not control the people she’d unleashed on the city. She was too weak. Her powers had fled.
“Help me,” she said once more. Her cheek fell to the polished wood floor, its surface cool against her skin.
“My lady?” a muffled voice broke through Kanako’s thoughts.
Two sets of footsteps rumbled across the floor. The first person—a young woman—knelt beside her.
“My lady Kanako?” the girl said.
Kanako looked up. Even through the haze surrounding her vision, she recognized the girl. She was the sister of Asano Tsuneoki. Yumi. The same girl Kanako had sworn to enact vengeance on for her brother’s misdeeds that night at Akechi fortress.
Strange how far away that seemed in this moment. How ridiculous the idea of revenge felt in such a moment of triumph.
The second set of footsteps halted beside her. Heavier. Decidely male. Hope warmed through her chest. Perhaps her son had finally found her. Now they could rejoice together.
“Lady Kanako.”
She recognized that voice. It was not the one she most wanted to hear.
Hattori Kenshin.
“I am no lady,” Kanako said. She forced open her eyes. Forced herself to look up at the young man and young woman crouched above her. Her past and her future, perhaps in a different life. “My name is Oda Kanako. I am the illegitimate daughter of a fisherwoman and a daimyō. I was destined for greatness.” Kanako closed her eyes. “And this is how I will achieve it.” She pressed her hand to the floor of the moon pavilion, rooting herself to its magic.
With the last of her strength, she let the spider take shape from the silver of her ring. The demon swallowed her vision, her thoughts a muddle of blood and fear.
Through it all, she clung to an image of her son. An image of the boy kanako knew would one day be a great man A sense of peace unfurled within her
But everything came with a price.
Kanoko sent the spider toward her broken body. Let death collect its due.
All around the city of Inako, the lurching creatures halted. Collapsed where they stood. They did not move, though they still possessed the faintest of pulses. Soon they began to awaken, their memories lost, and their bodies aching from the pain of their ordeal.
As order began to be restored, the screams of before became cries of gratitude.
Inside the castle grounds—just beyond the moon pavilion—a young girl emerged from a colorless world. Half her face was scarred.
On her chest was the image of a handprint.
Epilogue
Mariko wandered by the burbling stream, her heart content. She’d just attended the city’s celebration honoring their new emperor. A part of her still marveled at the turn of events. That she would feel such joy in her heart to know that Prince Raiden had ascended the Chrysanthemum Throne. It would be a story she told to those around her for years to come. Perhaps even shared with her children one day.
The time she’d been the wife of the emperor.
As she smiled to herself. Raiden would be a great emperor if he remained on this path.
Mariko felt a presence behind her. She turned in place, the silk of her elegant kimono shifting in the afternoon sun.
“Lord Ranmaru.” She smiled brightly. “Our new shōgun.”
Ōkami returned the gesture, but it did not touch his eyes. “You sent for me, my lady.” He bowed.
“I did.”
“It is an honor to be of service to our new empress.”
Mariko laughed. “Let me know when you see her. I hope Raiden finds a strong match. One who tests his patience as much as he tests hers.”
“What?” Confusion marred Ōkami’s brow.
“I am not the empress of Wa, Takeda Ranmaru.”
His eyes narrowed. “What did Raiden—”
“The emperor,” she corrected, “informed me that since our wedding ceremony was interrupted before it was finalized, he had consulte
d with his advisors. Our marriage never took place.” She grinned. “I am an unwed woman, whose reputation is forever tarnished by his rejection.”
Ōkami stood there. Disbelief flashed across his features. Then suspicion.
“Did you send for me so that I would—”
“No. I’m going to do it,” Mariko interrupted. “Lord Ranmaru, traitor and thief, will you marry a fallen woman with no chance of redemption in the eyes of our court?”
Ōkami laughed before he swept Mariko into his arms. “Yes,” he whispered in her ear. The feeling of warmth as his breath passed over her skin sent a thrill up Mariko’s spine.
“And will you swear never to interfere when I experiment with strange chemicals at all hours of the night?”
“Of course.” Ōkami framed her face between his hands. “Upon who else would I rely for exploding gourds and crystals that burn brighter than flame?”
Mariko smiled up at him, her hands covering his. “And will you be happy if she wishes to do whatever suits her in that moment, even if it causes you fear?”
“I would expect nothing else.” Ōkami pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Ours is a love stronger than fear and deeper than the sea,” he said softly.
Then he kissed her. The touch of his lips ignited something inside her chest. It burned through her with a delicious pain. Made her feel alive as she’d never felt before.
There was music all around her. Mariko listened. Breathed deeply. The water flowing at her feet. A blue sky basking above.
This was what it meant to be truly free. To be herself and no one else.
To be loved as she was.
Glossary
Akuma—an evil spirit from folklore
amazura—a sweet syrup
anate—the command for “fire,” as in “to fire an arrow”
ashigaru—foot soldiers
Bansenshukai—the ancient manual on the shinobi no mono, or the art of the ninja
bō—staff
boro—patchwork fabric worn by maidservants and peasants
bushidō—the way of the warrior
-chan—a diminutive and expression of endearment, as in Chiyo-chan
chūgi—loyalty; one of the tenets of bushidō
daifuku—a confection of glutinous rice stuffed with bean paste
daimyō—a feudal lord who is typically a vassal of the shōgun; the equivalent of an English earl
dō—chest armour
Fūrinkazan—a sword of light, associated with the Takeda clan; it is inscribed with the phrases As swift as the wind. As silent as the forest. As fierce as the fire. As unshakable as the mountain.
geiko—geisha
gi—integrity; one of the tenets of bushidō
Go—game
hachimaki—headband
hakama—traditional clothing of pleated trousers over a kimono top
haori—type of coat
honshō—true
ichi-go, ichi-e—one lifetime, one meeting; i.e., “live in the moment,” “for this time only”
jin—benevolence; one of the tenets of bushidō
jinmaku—camp enclosure
jubokko—vampiric tree
kaburaya—a whistling arrow
kagemusha—a shadow warrior; man behind the scenes
kanabō—a spiked club or truncheon
kata—set combinations of movements for martial arts practice
katana—type of sword
koku—a unit of measurement, typically associated in feudal times with land
kosode—simple robe worn by both sexes
kunai—type of dagger
maiko—apprentice geiko
makoto—honesty; one of the tenets of bushidō
maru—castle bailey
meiyo—honor; one of the tenets of bushidō
naginata—bladed weapon on a long shaft
norimono—litter, vehicle; palanquin
obi—wide sash
okaa—mother
ponzu—sauce containing citrus, vinegar, and soy
rei—respect; one of the tenets of bushidō
rōnin—masterless samurai
ryō—gold currency
-sama—a term of respect, a little more formal than -san, as in Mariko-sama
samurai—a member of the military caste, typically in service to a liege lord or daimyō
-san—a term of respect, as in Akira-san
saya—scabbard
sensei—teacher
seppuku—ritual suicide
shamisen—stringed instrument
shinobi no mono—the art of the ninja
shodo—calligraphy
shōgun—military leader
sumimasen—I’m sorry, please, thank you
tabi—split-toed socks
tantō—blade shorter than the wakizashi
tatami—a woven mat traditionally made of rice straw
tatsumura—a rare type of silk gauze, used to fashion priceless kimono
tsuba—hand guard of a sword
uba—nursemaid
umeshu—plum wine
wakasama—young lord
wakizashi—blade similar to but shorter than the katana; samurai traditionally wear both blades at once
washi—a type of paper commonly made using fibers from the bark of the gampi tree
yabusame—mounted archers
yōkai—forest demon
yoroihitatare—armored robe
yūki—courage; one of the tenets of bushidō
yuzu—a small citrus fruit with a tart flavor similar to a pomelo
zori—type of sandals
Acknowledgments
Debts of gratitude are interesting things. Sometimes I think they can never be truly paid. But I want everyone included here to know: If ever you wish to hurl sense into the wind and write a book, I will be there to support all your harebrained schemes and clean up every single one of the note-cards you leave strewn about like writerly petals.
To my agent, Barbara Poelle: Thank you for answering all my questions, never hesitating to charge into the fray, and offering me the kind of guidance that extends far beyond books. I’m grateful beyond words for you.
To my editor, Stacey Barney: I have such respect for you and your brilliant insight and your beautiful laughter. Thank you for being my champion and never hesitating to challenge me. My books are what they are because of you.
To my Penguin team: None of this is possible without you. A special note of thanks to my publicist, Marisa Russell, for always supporting me and being such a tremendous advocate. Shout-outs to Carmela Iaria, Venessa Carson, Doni Kay, Christina Colangelo, Kara Brammer, Theresa Evangelista, Elyse Marshall, Shanta Newlin, Erin Berger, Colleen Conway, Allan Winebarger, Kaitlin Kneafsey, Felicia Frazer, Lindsay Boggs, Emily Romero, Caitlin Whalen, Jocelyn Schmidt, Felicity Vallence, Elora Sullivan, and Bri Lockhart.
Thank you to all the readers, librarians, bloggers, and book lovers from all corners of the globe for all your enthusiasm and support. Book people are the best people.
To Joy Callaway, Ricki Schultz, Sarah Henning, JJ, Roshani Chokshi, Carrie Ryan, Marie Rutkoski, Sarah Nicole Lemon, Emily Pan, Sona Charaipotra, Marie Lu, Dhonielle Clayton, and Brendan Reichs: Thank you for being the kind of friends who always participate in group texts. Without you, no plans would be made. Ever.
To Sabaa: There are no words left to convey how lucky I feel to call you friend. Also, I just sent you a text. Are you still awake?
To Elaine: Seventeen years strong. Thank you for wiping away every tear, staying up to eat the leftovers with me, and always laughing at my dumb jokes. My life is better and brighter because of you.
To Erica: Let’s not count the years. But thank you for being my sister. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given. Also, thank you for Chris. He’s another amazing gift, but don’t tell him I said that. He won’t read this, so it can be our secret.
To Ian and my new sister Izzy: I’m so glad to share a family with you both.
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br /> To Omid, Julie, Navid, Jinda, Evelyn, Isabelle, Andrew, Ella, and Lily: I am so grateful for all of you. Thank you so much for coming to all the signings, waiting in line, and buying a book you already have just so you can tell someone else about it. Also, Lily: Your email brightened my day.
To all four of my parents: Thank you for your unceasing love and guidance.
And to Vic: You are better than magic.
Renee Ahdieh, Smoke in the Sun
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