Hiro stared at the Second Bloom, incredulous.
“We believe it is traditionally the groom who asks for his bride’s hand, after all. And since she has no living father or brother to seek blessing from, the one to vouchsafe the union would be her clanlord.”
A hollow intake of metallic breath.
“You.”
“Godless cowards,” Hiro breathed. “She is utterly at your mercy, and still you fear her.”
“We simply thought she would take the news better, coming from you.”
Hiro swore he could hear a cruel smile in Kensai’s voice.
“I have no desire to play your games, Kensai-san.”
“Oh, I know your desire, young Lord. Why you agree to this trial when tradition demands you take your own life at the death of your master. But know you will never attain it without the aid of the Lotus Guild.” Kensai stepped closer, only the vaguest hint of menace in his voice. “And so, if I request you do your Lady the honor of informing her of her approaching wedding, you will do so, content that it brings you one step closer to that which you do desire—to slay the Impure abomination who murdered your Lord and cast the shadow of insurrection over the shores of this great nation. The daughter of Masaru the Black Fox. Kitsune Yukiko.”
At the mention of her name, Hiro’s metal hand snapped shut with a clang. He blinked, forced it open again, to be still at his side.
“The prosthetic is fully functional I see.” Faint amusement in Kensai’s voice.
“It will serve.”
“As will we all.” Kensai covered his fist and bowed. “Shōgun.”
*
She lay on a bed large enough to get lost in, red silk pulled up to her chin, the tune of a hundred ticking clocks hanging in the air. A mountain of pillows was piled at her back, the curtain drawn away from cloudy beach-glass windows, bloody daylight creeping across the floorboards toward her. Machines chattered beside her bed, all dials and bellows, a language of punch cards and clicking beads and stuttering harmonics, cables snaking beneath her sheets. A small black-and-white terrier sat beside her on the bed, worrying a knotted ball of rope with puppy-sharp teeth. Its tail wagged as he entered.
She was not clad in a j?nihitoe as occasion would dictate; just a plain shift of deep red, rivers of long, raven hair spilling about her shoulders. No powder upon her bloodless face, nor kohl around her bloodshot eyes. Her right arm was bound in plaster, her lips pale and bereft of paint, left eye still surrounded by a faint yellow bruise, skin split almost to her chin down the left side of her mouth, stitched with delicate sutures. Yoritomo’s beating had been far more brutal than most in the court were allowed to believe.
And still, she was beautiful.
“My Lady Tora Aisha.” Hiro covered his fist and bowed from the waist. “First Daughter of Shima. Last of the line of Kazumitsu. I am honored you grant me audience.”
“Lord Tora Hiro.” She smiled faintly, as if afraid to split the sutures on her lip. “My heart lightens to see a noble samurai of this honorable house. I have not enjoyed such pleasant company for an age, it seems.”
Her eyes flickered to the two False-Lifers flanking her bed, arms crossed over the mechabacii on their breasts. The sound of their breathing was a vacant hiss, muted sunlight glittering on bulbous crimson eyes set in faceless heads.
Hiro knelt by the bed. Spring-driven ceiling fans rocked in the exposed beams overhead, circulating a feeble breeze throughout the room. Sweat beaded on Aisha’s brow, but she made no move to brush it away.
“I would speak to the Lady alone.” Hiro looked up at the False-Lifers.
The Guildsmen shared a mute glance, remained motionless.
“Leave us,” Hiro snapped.
“The lotus must bloom.”
The pair bowed, synchronized, walked to the door as if they were two bodies and one mind, their boots clicking across the floorboards in perfect unison. The chromed razors on their backs gleamed as they reached the rice-paper doors, sliding the panels away and stepping out into the hall like dancers taking their place upon the stage. The doors closed with a harsh thud behind them.
“Thank the gods,” Aisha breathed, voice trembling. “They have been with me every moment since I awoke. You are the first of Yoritomo’s men I have seen since…” She glanced about with wide eyes, as if the walls themselves had ears. “They are keeping me like a prisoner, Lord Hiro. They will not permit me to see Michi or any of my maidservants. They let me speak to no one…”
She sniffed, swallowed thickly.