As they strolled beneath a covered walkway—her wooden zori crunching over small white stones—Kenshin slowed.
Sixty-two paces.
“Do not react,” he said. “Not to what I’m saying, and not to what you are about to see.”
Though her first instinct was to ask questions, Mariko tamped down the desire.
Be water.
“They are trying to see how you will behave,” he continued. “If I’ve learned anything about the Minamoto family in my short time at Heian Castle, I’ve realized they are always testing you. React in a way that shows you care about the son of Takeda Shingen, and it will be used against you both.”
At the mention of Ōkami and the confirmation that he still lived, Mariko faltered in her steps, the rhythm of her motions broken.
“Am I wrong, then?” Kenshin asked quietly.
Mariko stood taller. She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. To tell him all that lurked in her heart, all that spun through her mind. To freely share with her brother every thought, every fear, every dream, just as she had when they were children. But she could not. Not until she understood why he no longer trusted her. Why he’d not once thought to ask before passing judgment.
Why he’d failed to come to her aid and averted his gaze from her wordless pleas.
“You’re wrong,” Mariko said, her tone curt.
Kenshin glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think I mistook the emotion on your face when Takeda Ranmaru revealed his identity in Jukai forest.”
Laughter trilled from Mariko’s lips—an attempt to bring levity to the situation. “Now you are adept at reading emotion?” she teased. “I am glad for you, especially on behalf of Amaya.”
To her surprise, Kenshin flinched as though she’d struck him. “Do not speak her name to me ever again, Mariko.” His voice was low. Laden with feeling. Not at all the kind of response she had expected.
At a loss, Mariko said nothing.
They continued toward the central structure of Heian Castle, removing their sandals before entering the wooden hallways. Here, everywhere they stepped they were met with the shrill creaking of the drafty nightingale floors. But they did not walk in the direction of the emperor’s receiving room. Instead Kenshin led her down a side corridor, past a series of shuttered doors, toward a darkened expanse with a set of aging stairs cut into its center.
Thirty-seven paces.
Once they descended and Mariko peered down the dimly lit pathway, another layer of the castle came into view. It seemed as though this hidden structure had been constructed from the earth itself. A warren of tunnels branched into low-ceilinged rooms, upon which the seat of the imperial city rested. As the lore suggested, Heian Castle was indeed built in an odd fashion, with a sense of magic loitering in every shadow. It had been designed centuries ago by a famed mathematician, aided by the power of a reclusive enchantress.
But even knowing these things did not prepare Mariko for what she now beheld. Most fortresses she’d encountered in the past did not possess a mysterious structure beneath them. Reinforced on all sides by stone and immense timber beams, this place was meant for something secret. Perhaps even illicit. Seemingly crafted without design, it was impossible to determine where the passages began or ended.
In silence, the two siblings wove through this dank underbelly of the castle. Mariko shivered, the warmth of the sun lost in this underground lair.
When the light began to wane, Kenshin paused to reach for one of the torches anchored to the wall. Before they moved toward the second set of stairs—these carved from solid stone rather than timber—he turned to her.
“Show them nothing,” her brother said quietly.
Mariko did not know if he spoke to her or to himself. The wet smell wafting from below almost drew a shudder. As they descended, her eyes locked on her brother’s shoulders. On the unwrinkled expanse of his kosode and the comforting weight of the swords at his sides. Ever since they were children, Hattori Kenshin had always embodied the perfect ideal of a samurai.
In these creaking halls—taking in this poisonous air—Mariko wished that she, too, had the weight of a weapon at her side.
As the silence between them grew heavier, an onslaught of questions caught in her throat. Mariko wanted so much to confide in her twin. But the way Kenshin disdained her these last few days—the way he’d treated her like a thing beyond his consideration—remained in the forefront of her mind.
She thought he would at least give her a chance to explain. But he was not the same brother Mariko had left behind. Something had changed in Kenshin, and she wondered whether it had anything to do with the mention of Amaya’s name.
They moved past a stack of used charcoal near the last step, and the hem of Mariko’s kimono slipped through a patch of murky water, dripping from a large stone channel above. She gasped as the icy wetness soaked through her tabi onto her feet.
In that moment, Mariko recalled the empress’s parting words about the priceless garment.
Where am I being taken? Am I being led to my death?
No, her own brother would never be party to that. But the memory of how he’d stood by as Minamoto Raiden threatened her … that memory could not be ignored, no matter how much she wished it. No matter how many excuses she wanted to grant her brother, Kenshin had done nothing, save watch the spectacle unfold.
Just as he continued to do after arriving in Inako.
The clang of metal against stone ricocheted in the darkness, startling her into awareness. A lone torch flickered through the gloom ahead. She shifted her eyes to the floor, her hands and feet turning to ice even as the blood flashed hot through her body. She kept her gaze averted until a vaguely familiar groan echoed through the darkness before them. Its echo haunted her, almost halting her steps, making her fear to look upon its source in unfettered light.
She breathed deeply before recoiling against the smell. It was not just the expected rot and ruin of a space bereft of sun. The closer Mariko and Kenshin came toward the flickering torch, the stronger the scent of singed flesh permeated the air.
They burned Ōkami.
Mariko fought to maintain her composure. When the light of the torch crackled nearby, her vision distorted. She forced herself to look away. Forced herself to remain silent and accept the cold glare of truth.
A huddled heap lay against a wall of darkness before her. Iron bars separated her from the broken young man lying within. The metallic scent of blood filled Mariko’s nostrils, making her gaze swim.
They’d burned him. Beaten him. Bled him. And for what?
Ōkami had already surrendered. Not once on their journey had he put up a fight.
Which meant that pure suffering had been the goal.
Fury and humiliation warred within her. Calling upon all the strength Mariko could muster, she forced herself to tuck both emotions away, deep behind her heart, where no one could find them.
No matter what they have done to Ōkami, I will look upon him without fear.
“Kenshin-sama … it is good to have you once more in the imperial city.” When the emperor spoke, Mariko took a moment to form a memory. At first glance, much about Minamoto Roku appeared uninteresting. His skin was inordinately pale, his features forgettable, especially as he stood alongside his taller, far more commanding brother. The grandest thing about Roku was his garments. They were made from a costly silk of burnished gold.
On second glance, however, there was definitely something more to be found beneath the surface. Though he was deep in a dank pit, far beneath the splendor of the world above, Roku spoke as though he were in the midst of a comfortable gathering between friends. A lighthearted affair, perhaps in a flowering garden, rather than a meeting in this gloomy underworld.
In contrast, his elder brother did not appear at ease. Not in the slightest. Prince Raiden reminded Mariko of a caged beast.
At least he has the grace to appear unnerved by these circumstances.
Mariko desperately wished to learn more about Ōkami’s condition, but she refrained from glancing his way. She did not trust herself to remain coolheaded. Not yet.
The emperor continued addressing Kenshin in the same unhurried manner. “I have no doubt you will enjoy your stay here even more than before. I’ve already composed a message to our favorite teahouse in Hanami; you’ll recall it from that unfortunate incident several weeks ago. As a reward for your success in apprehending this criminal and rescuing my brother’s betrothed, please be my guest there tomorrow night.” A crisp nod punctuated his directive.