“You must get me away from them. The Guild. I cannot believe the court would allow me to be treated so if they knew what was happening here. I have nothing to do, no one to speak to. They drug me. Treat me like a sack of meat. My gods…”
She clenched her teeth, fighting the fear, the tears. He could see it took everything she had not to break, to cry like a lost child, alone and afraid in the dark. The puppy stopped playing with his ball, watched her with one ear cocked, tail between his legs. Hiro sat and stared for an age, fists upon knees, face like granite. And then he spoke, his voice hard as a gravestone, as dead and cold as the ashes they’d interred in his Lord’s tomb.
“You deserve this.”
Wide eyes clouded with unspent tears, lips trembling like leaves in the autumn wind. A fragile, tiny whisper.
“What?”
“You deserve this, my Lady.” Hiro stared at her, pitiless and unblinking. “You betrayed your brother and sovereign Lord. The Shōgun of these islands, the man to whom all owed allegiance. You helped that Kitsune whore escape with Yoritomo’s prize. And because of you, he is dead, the country in chaos, and this clan in tatters.”
“Not you too?” she breathed. “Gods … have mercy upon me…”
“But they have, my Lady. They are far more merciful than I. They have given you the opportunity to atone. To alleviate the shame you have heaped upon yourself with your betrayal.”
“What are—”
“You and I are to be married.”
What little color remained in Aisha’s cheeks faded away, blood draining from her skin as if someone had cut her throat.
“The announcement has already been made,” Hiro said. “Clanlords of the Phoenix and Dragon have accepted invitation. We will be husband and wife by month’s end. And together, we will reforge the Kazumitsu Dynasty, restore the line you helped destroy.”
Hiro took Aisha’s hand, iron fingers closing around her own. The movements were clumsy, gears hissing and whirring like a Lotusman’s skin.
“So now I see.” Defiance burned in Aisha’s stare. Refusal to flinch from his touch. “Shōgun Hiro, is it?”
“You always were an insightful one, Lady.”
“So the Guild have bought you.” Her voice grew stronger, underscored with anger and faint contempt. She glanced at Hiro’s metal arm, lips curling in disgust. “Paid for and sold.”
“Do not dare pass judgment on me,” he growled. “Everything I do now, I do to right the wrongs you helped perpetrate.”
“Wrongs?” Half laughing, half sobbing. “You speak to me of wrongs?”
“He was your brother, Aisha. You were honor-bound to—”
“Do not speak to me of honor,” she snapped. “Your rhetoric about Bushido and sacrifice. Just look outside the window, Hiro-san. Look what this empire has done to the island we live on. Skies red as blood, earth black as pitch. Our addiction to chi draining the land of every drop of life. We wage war overseas, murdering gaijin by the thousands, and for what? More land. More fuel. Where will it end? When the deadlands split wide and drag us all down into the hells?”
“It will end when she is dead,” he spat.
“Ah.” Aisha looked at him with something akin to sympathy. “Now I see. It is not my betrayal that cuts you. It is hers. Yukiko.”
Hiro’s metal hand snapped into a fist. “Do not speak that name in my presence again.”
“She loved you, Hiro-san.”
“Shut up!” Iron fingers twitched.
“And still you failed. Even after you tore her heart from her chest, betrayed the girl who loved you true … still you failed to save your Lord’s life.”
Hiro leapt onto the bed, metal hand closing about Aisha’s throat. Her eyes bulged wide, color blooming in her cheeks as iron bit into her skin. The puppy barked, growling as he sank his fangs into the Daimyo’s robe and tugged. Hiro’s face was a madman’s mask, eyes wild, lips flecked with spittle, teeth gritted. He pressed down with all his weight, watching her face flush with blood.
“Shut your mouth, you honorless whore.”
Aisha’s voice was a strangled whisper, tears welling in her eyes.
“I … pity you…”
Hiro drew his face close to hers, twisted with hatred, staring into her eyes, watching their light fade as the moments ticked by into minutes. But as the end drew near, instead of terror and pain, he saw triumph, gloating and awful as she teetered upon the precipice. She did not struggle. Did not flail or kick or slap at his crushing grip. And with a moan of horror he seized hold of the prosthetic with his other hand and tore it away from her throat.
Aisha collapsed, gasping, her mountain of pillows scattered, thick drifts of hair tangled about her face, like a child’s plaything thrown into a corner when it was no longer wanted. The pup licked her fingers, whining. Hiro shrank from the ruin of the bed and staggered to his feet, gasping for breath.