“They transmitted to us earlier today,” Ginjiro nodded. “They will reach First House tomorrow. Their ship has been outfitted with Tora chapterhouse colors. They made radio contact with the rebels aboard the Earthcrusher yesterday, and have access to the priority transmission codes and passwords again. That should see them into First House. Once there, with any luck, they can detonate the chi reserves and blow the place to the heavens.”
The Blackbird shook his head. “Did you send any of your people with them? Gods know they’re going to need some old-fashioned Kitsune luck to pull that one off.”
“Even without the attack on First House, we still have the Earthcrusher sewn up,” Ginjiro said. “The rebels aboard will detonate the engines just as the battle begins. The blast will wipe out the Tora ground forces. Then we charge from Kitsune-jō, the gaijin attack from the east and we catch them on two fronts, covered by our own sky-ships and rotor-thopters.”
“The Tora still have us badly outmatched in the air,” Isamu said.
“We need Yukiko,” Michi sighed.
“She’s never let us down before,” Akihito said.
“The odds have never been this bad before.”
“And if she fails?” Blackbird asked. “What then?”
Isamu stroked his moustache and shrugged.
“Then let’s hope Kitsune looks after his own.”
*
Akihito stood at the window, watching the gaijin filter into Kitsune-jō’s courtyard. Fox soldiers watched the round-eyes warily, but it was obvious they were no ambush in waiting. The gaijin were in terrible shape—many borne on stretchers, skin burned to blisters. The Daimyo’s servants brought blankets and hot rice, the barrier of language between the two peoples overcome with small gestures of kindness and grateful smiles. The big man shook his head. A few days ago, these men had been set to destroy everyone on the island. Now all they were set to destroy was the contents of the Daimyo’s larder. And all thanks to— “There you are.”
He turned at the sound of her voice, saw her leaning in the doorway. She’d smoothed her blond bob out as best she could, but it was still unruly, jagged bangs around her eye, the lopsided fringe doing its best to cover the leather patch. She was clad in a breastplate of dark, banded iron. Goggles and kerchief pulled down around her throat, that too-round eye watching him, unblinking.
Beautiful.
“Where’s Kaiah?” he asked.
She rapped her knuckles on the breastplate in answer. “Getting fitted by the blacksmiths. Something to protect her from archery fire. They’re making some for Buruu too.”
“A good idea.”
“You like it?” She ran a hand down the armor, over the faint curve of her hip.
Akihito swallowed. “I do.”
“My uncle went back to report to the Marshal and the Holy Mother. He wanted me to go with him to prepare for the dawn ritual. Insisted, in fact.”
“So why did you stay?”
“… Don’t you know?”
The rafters creaked, ominous and stuttering. The floor shifted beneath his feet, a vibration emanating from somewhere far below, windows rattling, a flower vase crashing to the floor. With a wince, he hobbled to the doorway, squeezed in beside her as the earthquake kicked into full swing. Ceiling fans rocked, tremors traveling from the soles of his feet to the base of his skull. He took Hana in his arms, braced against the doorframe as the palace shifted and rolled.
It was over in moments, dust drifting down from the beams, servants shouting in the distance. Not as bad as some he’d felt in recent months, but still, their frequency was unnerving. It seemed the very island was trying to buck them off its skin.
Hana was pressed against him, fingers entwined at the small of his back. She looked up at him through the mess of her fringe, gifting him a mischievous smile as the earth stopped moving.
“Was it good for you too?”
He laughed, and quick as silver, she stood on tiptoes and lunged at his mouth, throwing her arms around his neck. Hungry. Ferocious. He took hold of her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him, pressing him against the doorway. Her tongue darted out against his own, his breath coming heavy, losing himself in the sensation and returning the kiss with abandon.
He’d known women in his life—more than his fair share, truth be told. But though he’d lost himself in desire before, there had never been much in the way of true feeling behind it. Not the way this girl made him feel now. Fingernails entwined in his hair, pulling his head back as she bit his lip, almost too hard. He tasted blood, her lips grazing his cheek, nipping again, latching onto his throat as her hand slipped inside his uwagi, over his chest and down the muscles of his stomach, pulling the tunic away from his shoulder, biting again.
“Stop,” he breathed, cupping her cheek, flushed with warmth. “Hana, stop.”
She looked up at him, eye glazed with lust. “What? Gods, what?”
“Are you sure? I mean, have you ever…”
She was almost panting, lips bright pink from the rush of blood, the rasp of his stubble on her skin. But she found breath to laugh, slapping him playfully on his half-bared chest.
“You men. You’re such godsdamned idiots.”