Smoke in the Sun
Page 34

Mariko blinked, embarrassment blossoming beneath her skin.
kami rested his head against the wall and looked up, intensifying the shadows on his face. “Actually you are nothing like sunlight. You’re something else entirely. A well at dusk. That’s where you exist for me. In that place where it’s still and dark and deep.”
A different kind of discomfort washed over her. A mixture of pleasure and pain. She did not find it unsettling, though the sensation was not what she’d imagined it would be. The stories from her childhood had made love seem poetic and grand and tragic all at once, not this odd blending of opposites.
Loss had taught her yet another lesson. Real love was more than a moment. It was everything that happened after. Chaos in one instant, simplicity in the next. Everything and nothing in the space of a simple breath.
It was clarity, sharp and numbing, like a winter’s morning.
When Mariko said nothing, kami laughed. “Don’t let your mind escape you.”
“I—” She cleared her throat, searching for the right words.
“You don’t have to say anything, Mariko. I already know.”
It galled her to realize how well kami had come to know her in such a short period of time. But Mariko would have it no other way. A part of her knew she should tell kami how she felt. To admit it aloud, so that it could never be ignored or denied. But Mariko stayed silent. Mere words felt hugely inadequate. And she wouldn’t have the right words anyway. Not now.
“It’s getting late,” kami said. “You should return to your chamber.”
“I don’t … wish to leave.”
“And I don’t want you to go, but the longer you stay, the more you risk your safety.”
I should tell him I love him. What if I never see him again?
Mariko gritted her teeth. She would not tell him how she felt from a place of fear. Though she’d learned to embrace the it—to make fear serve her instead of control her—Mariko knew better than to let it dictate something so precious.
“I’ll return tomorrow night with some firestones.” Her voice rasped with all she could not say. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll devise another way.” Already her mind began working through possible options.
“Sleep well, Lady Mariko. You are loved. It isn’t enough, but it’s all I have.”
Mariko gathered her things, her brow furrowed, her thoughts a jumble. Wordlessly she counted the paces toward the stairs leading up from the castle’s underbelly. Despite her best efforts, regret had already begun to take root in her chest, as though she’d failed yet again. In all respects.
No. I will not let these fears rule me. I have better things to do with my time.
kami was right. Love was not enough. It wasn’t enough to convince kami to cast aside his doubts and fight. And it wasn’t the reason Mariko had offered to come to Inako. They both needed more than love. More than their heart’s desires. They needed a way to bring about action.
And Mariko did not have that answer. Not yet.
Hattori Mariko slipped soundlessly through the courtyard, her path lit by the light of a sickle moon. As she paused between the painted posts supporting the covered walkways, white pebbles crunched underfoot several paces behind her.
Someone was following her.
Panic caught in her throat. She dropped into a crouch, stealing a moment to collect herself. If this person had not called for the guards or accosted her outright, then he—or she—was trying to obtain information on Mariko’s whereabouts. Perhaps they did not yet know her identity.
But that seemed unlikely.
Mariko knew if she dallied, the intruder would only become more emboldened. It was possible this person did not have much experience tracking or remaining beyond notice. Failing to conceal the sound of movement was a very basic error.
From her crouched position, Mariko tied a mask around the lower portion of her face, then tucked her body into a roll. She reoriented herself behind a row of manicured hedges near a grove of yuzu trees, their sweet citrus scent wafting through the cool night air. She waited once more. Closed her eyes. Let her ears catch any signs of motion.
Nothing.
Mariko scuttled in the shadow of the hedgerow framing the grove. The muscles in her stomach knitted together from the strain of staying low to the ground. When the hedgerow came to an end, she paused once more. Still she could hear nothing in her wake.
Her chest began to relax.
Then the faintest smell of sake curled into her nostrils.
Crunch.
She tore from the bushes toward a ceremonial gatepost bordering a stream. Like a whip through the darkness, Mariko raced into the deepest shadow she could find. Behind her, she heard someone—a man—grunt and stumble, striking the soft earth.
A shout rang out, followed by several more. Lanterns flashed in Mariko’s periphery. Without thought, she slid down the bank of the small stream and tucked into a hollow beneath a small arched bridge.
She waited there, trembling uncontrollably as soldiers apprehended the man trailing her. As their shouts melted into muffled conversation. Words she could not discern from the babbling water.
Mariko waited nearly an hour, until the eastern sky began to lighten along its edges, her eyes wide, her fingers in fists. Then she crawled from her hiding place and back toward her room to vomit in an empty chamber pot.
A Pliant Mind
There were many layers to life. Especially a life like her own.
It was trite to say that not everything was as it seemed. But that fundamental understanding had become a necessary part of life. Time had taught Kanako that even the silliest thought—the most insignificant revelation—often held a deeper meaning.
One that could be used to her advantage, if she was given the opportunity.
She’d learned it first as a child. Rare was it for a poor village to raise a young girl with threads of magic running through her veins. The elders had said it happened once in a generation. Usually magic like this only manifested among the nobility—in those whose bloodlines had remained untainted. Kanako’s magic had not been very strong at first. It had been so slight that her parents had not even thought to send her away to the imperial city to study with a true illusionist. It had begun with an ability to talk to animals and glean their thoughts.
When Kanako had grown older, she’d followed a yellow-eyed fox into the forest on a misty spring morning. Beneath a tree with blackened branches, the fox had revealed to her that it was a demon of the wood. It had told her how serving this demon would make her magic stronger. How it would enable Kanako to do not just one small thing, but many larger, greater things. Perhaps something large enough to catch the attention of those in power. With this stronger magic, maybe she could find her way to the school in Inako after all.
No matter that magic had a price. That great magic had an ever greater price.
The things Kanako had lost to the fox demon had gained her far more. It had been a small price to pay, to know that any pain she endured, she endured for a purpose. Any secrets she kept, she kept with this in mind. After all, her magic was of a finite nature. It would weaken with Kanako the more she used it.
This was the mantra by which she lived: the greater the magic, the greater the price.
Recently she’d found herself losing time. Her mind would turn blank for the space of several breaths. Thankfully no one around her had noticed. Nor had they noticed how much longer it took for her to heal from any wounds. The injury inflicted upon her by Asano Tsuneoki that night at the Akechi stronghold still pained her greatly.
But it was a trifling consideration. These costs had gained her a place in the imperial castle. The heart of sovereign. The son she held so dear.
And it was for this son that she did everything.
Channeling the shape of her fox demon, Kanako concealed herself behind a thorny rosebush, biding her time. She waited in the shadows of the enchanted maru—the place she’d conjured to conceal the evidence of her darkest deeds. A place she went to for a breath of calm. Her pulse was slow and steady, her breaths carefully metered, her paws anchored to the earth. Her eyes glowed through the darkness as they sought her mark. She knew he would be returning from Hanami soon, for she’d watched and listened for this precise opportunity.
Hattori Kenshin had disappeared to a teahouse in Hanami for the past several nights. As luck would have it, not once had he elected to take an escort or ask for the company of others.