“Kaori?” Michi reached out as if the woman were an apparition. “Gods…”
And they were in each other’s arms, holding tight, as if the whole world might fall away beneath their feet. Michi blinked back the tears, looked at the smoke-stained faces of the folk around her, grim and drawn—faces that spoke of defeat, not victory. Her heart swelled in her chest as she caught sight of Akihito slumped against a far railing, a teenaged boy crouched beside him. Blood-soaked and exhausted, but the big man was alive at least, and for that, she closed her eyes and gave thanks. Aisha’s puppy was snuffling about the boy’s feet, the shell-shocked lad blinking, reaching down to him with one trembling hand.
“We were expecting to have to fight our way in for you.” Kaori stepped back, their hands still entwined. “Where is Aisha?”
“Gone.” Michi shook her head. “She’s gone.”
Kaori closed her eyes, looking for a moment as if she might fall. She dragged a feeble breath through gritted teeth, shoulders slumping.
“Then it was all for nothing…”
“How did you know where to find me? That I was still in the palace?”
“I told them.”
A girl sat alone against the railing nearby, clothed in shadow and blood. A pale face, painted red. An unruly bob of ink-black hair, one eye covered by a blood-soaked bandage, the other glowing the color of rose quartz.
Michi blinked. “Who are you?”
The girl managed to smile. “Call me No One, Michi-chan.”
“You…” Michi knelt by the girl’s side, concern and gratitude filling her with equal measure. The girl looked battered, bruised, bloody. But unbroken. Michi hugged her fiercely, a clumsy, feeble thanks forming on her lips.
“Guild!” A cry rang out from the crow’s nest. “Guild on our tail!”
Michi looked aft, squinting through the exhaust haze. The skies over Kigen were ablaze, a handful of Guild and Tiger sky-ships locked in deadly battle with the traitorous Phoenix fleet. The Floating Palace was laying down a wall of shuriken fire to stave off the assault, slowly cruising toward the Shōgun’s palace, its retinue of corvettes blurring the sky around it. The entirety of Docktown seemed to be on fire. But a few Guild ships had somehow noticed the Kurea in the melee and had turned to pursue. Even with the capital of the Imperium in flames, the chi-mongers had set their sights on the Kagé and intended to run them to ground.
Michi released No One, ran up to the captain’s deck, Kaori beside her. Cloudwalkers were gathered at the railing, cursing beneath their breath.
“Two dreadnoughts,” said one.
“Plus the corvettes to run us down,” another spat.
The Kurea’s captain stood like a stone pillar at the pilot’s wheel, tanned skin and sparkling eyes. He was tall and barrel-shaped, with an enormous braided beard and a long plait streaming out behind him. His voice was a drumming roar over the wind.
“All hands to stations! All hands!” He turned to his first mate, teeth clenched. “Get below. Dump the ballast and any extra weight. Anything that’s not nailed down. Go! Go!”
The crew scattered to their posts, half a dozen heading belowdecks, soon emerging with crates, furniture, ropes and tackle, heaving great handfuls over the side and out into the city below. Michi heard the engines pick up, the four great prop-blades churning the air, tethers and cables groaning with the strain.
“Can we outrun them?” Michi murmured.
The captain glanced at her, slammed the throttle to full ahead.
“Or die trying,” he said.
54
THE CRUELEST STORM
His bride? Murdered.
His allies? Traitors.
His capital? Ablaze.
All was undone.
Kigen thrashed below him, body charring, skin crawling. Thousands of people fleeing to the city walls, throwing themselves into the bay amidst the flaming ruins of the Dragon clan’s tall ships. Empty motor-rickshaws rolling down the roads, burning as they went. Glass falling like rain. Bewildered bystanders, faces streaked with soot and blood. Stepping aside or crushed underfoot. Fire and dancing silhouettes, a tumult, a discord, arms held to the sky and swaying in the pulse.
Chaos.