“That a Phoenix commander would receive your careful consideration when you replace General Tora Hojatsu as head of the gaijin invasion force.”
Yoritomo snorted. “If they wish to lead the entire army, perhaps the Fushicho should bring me victories in the skirmishes I have already allotted them.”
“I promised your consideration on the matter, great Lord. Nothing more.” A tired smile. “With that quibble silenced, all is now on schedule for the celebrations at weeksend. The fireworks have arrived from Yama, Fushicho Kirugume has composed a special piece to be played in your honor. I hear tell that the orchestra accompanying him will be at least fifty strong. The court is quite abuzz with excitement.”
“Very well.” The Shōgun stalked to the coral basin, splashing tepid water in his face. “Are we done?”
“There is one other matter, great Lord.” Hideo’s brow was creased with a small frown. “There has been much activity around the arashitora these last few days. Artificers coming and going at odd hours, taking measurements, poking and prodding. It seems a great deal of trouble for a simple saddle.”
Yoritomo smiled.
“Do not concern yourself, Hideo. My sister is arranging a gift for me.”
“Lady Aisha is—”
“Indeed. And she wishes to keep it a surprise. So be not alarmed.”
Hideo’s eyes narrowed slightly and he finally drew the last puff from his pipe. The smoke was cloying and warm, flowing down his throat, lungs open wide. Larynx to bronchi, alveoli to bloodstream and from there to bliss. The dragon uncoiled inside him, giving voice to his suspicion, serpentine form to his paranoia. Glittering scales. A cold, quiet hiss inside.
“A surprise, great Lord?” The old man smiled, smoke drifting from between his lips. “Well, you know how much we all enjoy those.”
“Two days from now.” Yukiko kept her voice low, her eyes scanning the arena, listening for the sounds of the bushimen patrols. She had slipped from her bedroom as soon as the sun set, crawled through the roof and stolen out over the garden wall. From the cover of a nearby squeezeway, she’d watched the soldiers as they circled the periphery of the arena; two pairs marching clockwise and counter-clockwise, walking through the archways and patrolling the inner walls every second circuit. Each trip around the circumference took the men almost ten minutes. She had a little under seven left before she’d have to slip back into the shadows. She felt nervous and exposed on the broad expanse of the arena floor, crouching low beside Buruu’s forelegs, one hand on his chest. She needed to get back to the palace before anyone missed her.
The Artificer was bent over Buruu’s wing, testing a series of metal cuffs around the alula and marginal coverts, assessing length and breadth with a small, clicking measure-reel. The mechabacus on his chest was a constant, clattering hum, singing an equation of sedition.
“Two days,” Kin replied, swapping one cuff for another. “It will be ready.” “It needs to be, Kin-san. The whole city will be at the bicentennial. Almost every bushiman in the palace will be part of the parade. Iron Samurai too. The prison will be almost empty, and all eyes will be on the sky. We get one chance at this.”
“I will play my part.”
DO YOU TRUST HIM?
Do I have a choice?
FROM THE FIRST TIME YOU MET, HE BEGAN LYING TO YOU. FACE HIDDEN BEHIND HIS MASK, THINKING THE WORLD DOES NOT SEE THE POISON.
He’s not like the rest of them.
THEY ARE ALL THE SAME.
She reached up to Buruu’s neck, dragged her fingernails between the sleek feathers under his chin. His purr was a tiny earthquake, rumbling deep inside her chest.
“I want to thank you, Kin-san,” Yukiko said, searching the featureless, brass mask. “You are risking so much for us. I’m not sure I know why.”
“Do you not?” A rasping buzz from within his helmet. “Can you not guess?”
She licked her lips and stared at the floor.
HE WANTS YOU. THAT IS WHY HE HELPS US. NO OTHER REASON.
“Kin, I—”
He held up his hand, thick leather and heavy brass, clockwork and spinning gears. Yukiko could see herself reflected in that single bloody eye, saw herself for the liar she’d become. She knew Kin was in love with her. But she was afraid that if she told him how she felt, he’d abandon her, leave Buruu to die in here. And she needed his help.
Was that something she could forgive herself for? Lying for the sake of a greater good? Deceiving this boy so her best friend would be spared his torment, her father could be free of his prison? Was tearing one heart out a fair price for the lives of two others?