It would have been different if Mariko thought Roku could become a better ruler than his father. One who cared for the plight of others. But she’d already caught sight of the fearful glances exchanged by the servants attending the mercurial new emperor. Stopped to offer comfort to Isa after finding the maidservant weeping in a corner when the girl thought no one was watching.
As Mariko strolled slowly from weapon to weapon, she connected the reason for the young woman’s sadness. Isa’s family served the Sugiura clan. Perhaps they’d succumbed to the plague already.
The emperor was not even caring for those loyal to him. His brother, Raiden, was no better. A dog digging for bones in a graveyard.
She could weather this storm if she had to. All her life, Mariko had been trained to be exactly this kind of woman and nothing more. Her eyes fell on the Takeda sword nearby. It seemed to warm at her gaze, a spark catching in its center, the white skin of its shirasaya glinting like a mirror.
A trick of the light. Nothing more.
It was impossible that the sword would respond to her. She’d come to Inako to lie, steal, cheat, and kill. A bewitched blade would know her for what she was the moment it came in contact with her.
Impossible.
Despite this truth, Mariko wanted to be worthy of the Fūrinkazan. A warrior with a pure heart, no matter her devious intentions.
Raiden studied her, his features tight. Waiting.
If Mariko agreed to this marriage, she would have to be this boy’s wife. She would have to laugh with him. Share a bed with him. Share his secrets.
Be water.
In silence, she closed the distance between her and Prince Raiden. Reached for his hand, her grasp tentative. At the touch of his skin to hers, every part of her body screamed in silent horror. Ached for rebellion.
We do what we must.
Mariko laced her fingers through his. She swallowed slowly and stepped into his space. The space of a warrior, who stiffened immediately at her intrusion. Seeking to disarm him further, Mariko shifted her fingers to his jaw in a tentative touch. His brow furrowed. He glared down at her, the center of his eyes still unsure. Mariko wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. The trick worked again. Raiden’s eyes flashed toward her mouth, his grip on her hand tightening.
Then he made a decision, as he often did, without any warning.
When Raiden kissed her, Mariko did not expect it, even though she’d baited him for precisely this purpose. He was not gentle or tender. Not at all like the first boy she’d ever kissed, that afternoon in the hayloft. And he was nothing like Ōkami.
Ōkami only took what was offered freely and without reservations.
Raiden did not care to ask. Did not think to ask.
His lips were possessive. The feeling of his mouth moving against hers crawled up Mariko’s spine in a way that made her almost flinch.
But Raiden’s kiss was a reflection of him. Of the kind of boy he was, and the kind of man he would be. Her first lover was shy. Ōkami studied. Purposeful. A boy who enjoyed playing a game for the sole purpose of getting caught.
Raiden did not play games with anyone. He pressed a large hand on the small of her back and drew her against him to deepen the kiss. Mariko returned his affection automatically. Turned off any hint of emotion, her eyes wide. When the prince released her, she took in a shaky breath. Then Mariko lowered her head. Peered up at the prince through a fringe of dark lashes.
If she was to agree to this union, she intended to walk away with the things she wanted.
Protect.
“It would be my honor to marry you, my lord Raiden.” Mariko inhaled with care. “But I have two requests.”
A Life Unchosen
Yumi rode through the rapidly fading dusk, her roughspun cloak flying about her like the wings of a bat. The piece of folded washi paper pressed to her chest felt as though it were burning a hole straight to her heart.
Tsuneoki had not answered her pleas to retrieve her from the okiya. To bring his sister into the fold and make her a member of the Black Clan. He’d allowed Hattori Mariko to join their ranks.
Why not Yumi?
She was far more practiced with a blade than the daughter of Hattori Kano. The blood of Asano Naganori ran through Yumi’s veins, the desire for revenge glowing steadily in her soul.
Still her brother denied her the satisfaction.
Anger rippled down Yumi’s throat. She hunched over her chestnut horse and urged the stallion faster. There wasn’t much time. There was never enough time.
Tsuneoki had gladly taken all the information Yumi passed his way. Her brother had cheerfully replied to anything he considered worthy of further investigation. Praised her on gathering news concerning the nobles and their countless machinations.
Yumi had been passing along this information to her brother for the better part of the last two years. Her unique position as a maiko of repute in the grandest teahouse in Hanami afforded her a vantage point from which to see the inner workings of the imperial court in a way others could only dream.
But it was long past time for Yumi to select a benefactor. She’d been an apprentice geiko for far too long. A maiko rarely waited in the wings for two years, especially one of her caliber. There had been countless requests for her companionship. If she were to select from any of these extremely wealthy, high-placed noblemen, Yumi would not want for anything in life. She would no longer have to work in the teahouse, entertaining inane drunks with no security to offer beyond vague promises of wealth. She wouldn’t have to practice the shamisen until her fingers bled and dance each night before a roomful of idle men, all for the chance to be crowned the greatest geiko in the city.
But if she made her choice and selected a benefactor, Yumi would never be anything more than a mistress. Though her position as a maiko gave her the chance to learn and experience much of a life denied to most women, this was not a life she would have chosen for herself.
She had her brother to thank for this, as well.
Hot tears streamed down her face, carried away by the wind as she urged her stallion even faster. They entered Jukai forest, and branches tore at her cloak. A leaf scraped across her cheek.
It did not matter.
None of it mattered.
Her brother was too concerned for Yumi’s safety. Concerned to the point of forbidding her from experiencing anything of worth. But Tsuneoki did not know how often Yumi defied his wishes. He did not know how often his younger sister prowled the rooftops of the imperial city. How skilled she’d become at throwing daggers.
He knew so little of her. Cared to know so little.
And it made her furious.
Yumi rode to the clearing that once housed her brother’s favorite watering hole. It had been abandoned after the elderly man who ran the establishment had been murdered by the Dragon of Kai, according to an anonymous note left at her Oklya, he’d been cut down where he stood, along with his two grandchildren. The boy, Moritake, had been friends with Yumi when they were children. His sister had trailed behind them while they played, ever a loving nuisance.
They’d all been killed in cold blood by Kenshin.
It was not an accident that Yumi had set her sights on the Dragon of Kai. A boy so different from his sister, yet so similar. Both were prideful. Both were stubbornly certain of their own correctness, even in the face of their many failings.
At least Mariko was willing to learn. She possessed a mind like a trap. Kenshin did not wish to know anything. His mind was a void, yawning and deep.
Yumi slid off her horse before the beast came to a full stop. She took off running, past the fringe of maple trees, through the field of overgrown grass surrounding the abandoned lean-to. She came to a skidding halt beside the flowing branches of an aging willow that had always offered those who wandered by a measure of shade.
Her breath flew past her lips in shallow gasps. The anger returned, tearing away the last of her sanity. Yumi knew she shouldn’t do this. Tsuneoki had forbidden her from initiating any unnecessary contact with him. He claimed the risk to her safety far too great. There were channels in place for her to communicate with those outside the imperial city. What Yumi planned to do next was not one of them.
Her brother always thought he knew best.
Yumi bit down hard on nothing until her jaw ached. Then she tore the creased paper from her haori, her gaze fixed. Determined. She’d not waited for the missive to dry before folding it. Her handwriting had smudged, a stark contrast from the measured, elegant script Tsuneoki had come to expect from her.