Smoke in the Sun
Page 52

Some would be her bodyguards. Others would provide her with distractions during the coming invasion.
The winged mirrors assumed their human forms, but they did not appear to have control over their minds. They behaved exactly like the mindless creatures Kanako had left behind in the domains east of the imperial city, as a warning.
As a portent of what was to come.
Kanako did not learned much from her lover, Minamoto Masaru. But she learned the inexorable value of fear.
She turned her attention back to the lives she’d collected for her flock. The army she’d amassed in her enchanted world, biding time for the right moment to strike. Some of its ranks were young. Some were elderly. Some were infirmed. Minamoto Roku’s imperial soldiers would hesitate before striking them down. And in the heat of battle, to hesitate was to die.
Many more were strong. Young. Warriors bearing the weapons of samurai from the eastern provinces. At the vanguard of this troop stood the tortured figure of Nobutada, Hattori Kano’s friend and confidant. His grizzled features twisted with despair as Kanako moved him forward. He lurched as though he were fighting against her control.
Poor fool. Nobutada would be a welcomed sacrifice to a much greater cause.
Death always collected its due.
When Kanako prodded the minds of the soldiers—ordering them to take leave of this place—pain flashed across their features. A pitiful kind of resistance. Honor-bound warriors did not like being led against their will. Unperturbed, Kanako drove them forward in small groups, out into Inako, where they would spread across the city and begin wreaking their havoc. Make it rife for the taking.
Kanako turned to those who remained. Her distractions. They were not to be used now. She would save them for when she planned to overtake the castle, once the city belonged to her son. It would do no good to wrest control of the emperor’s stronghold without first securing its borders. She studied her distractions for a moment, particularly captivated by the face of a young boy, who reminded her greatly of Raiden as a child.
The pain in his expression—his silent scream—gave her pause. But only for a moment.
Magic required pain. She, too, had suffered a great deal.
In life, everything worthwhile involved sacrifice.
Kanako waited until most of the castle had fallen asleep. The chaos of the last few days had left its mark everywhere. In corners strewn with colorful banners and broken shards of pottery. In the droves of imperial guards patrolling the castle grounds.
It was good she had sent her flock of warriors beyond the enchanted maru, into the city proper. They would begin seeding their discord in the outermost wards of Inako—the streets least patrolled by imperial soldiers. Then they would make their way toward the golden castle in the city’s center. It would not be long before the people bore full witness to their emperor’s incompetence. Before they begged for the might of a warrior like Raiden to lead them to safety.
But Kanako knew there were still obstacles to overcome. Unforeseen possibilities. These worries drove her to take precautions. The ring she wore on her right hand had been gifted to her by an especially wicked creature of the wood. An eight-legged demon that had ruled a domain of darkness since the beginning of time. Kanako rarely channeled this spirit. It unsettled her to descend into its form and look upon the world through so many eyes. With such unmitigated hunger.
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 kami 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.
kami, 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, kami 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.
kami 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.
kami 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.
kami 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, kami 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.
kami 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 kami 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. kami 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 kami’s face.