This was a mistake.
In her heart she had known it all along. And, truth be told, he had never pretended otherwise. But she had wanted so badly for them both to be wrong, hoped against hope that he might be different from the others. If someone like Aisha could grow to see the truth of things, then anyone could.
Anyone who allowed themselves to, that is.
She felt Buruu in the back of her mind, no judgment or rebuke. He’d tried to warn her, told her Hiro was just another part of the control machine. She wished she’d listened.
Hiro pressed her tightly to him, hands clasped at the base of her spine, staring with those beautiful eyes that had once haunted her sleep. He began to speak, time slowing to a crawl as his lips parted to tell her the one thing she didn’t want to hear.
“I lo—”
She kissed him, stood on tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck and crushed her lips into his before he could finish the sentence. She didn’t want to listen to those three awful words, feel them open her up to the bone and see what the lies had done to her insides. She pressed her body against his and kissed him until they died on his lips, the impulse to speak slowly strangled in soft, blessed silence.
She kissed him like it was the last time.
Somewhere deep inside, she knew it would be.
A knife in his chest. A jagged splinter of rusted metal, shoved between his ribs and twisted until the bones popped. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Nausea and vertigo, world swaying in some invisible wind as the ground split under his feet and yawned wide.
Kin leaned against the wall, fingers splayed on concrete as his universe dissolved. The measure-reel fell from numb, trembling hands, the figures he’d wanted to recheck drifting off into some dark, forgotten corner of his mind. He stared at Yukiko and the samurai in each other’s arms and felt vomit bubbling up in the back of his throat. The taste of rage in his mouth, hard and metallic, a razor’s edge.
What a fool you’ve been. He turned and staggered away, clutching his heart as if to hold back the blood.
What a stupid, blind fool.
33 The Breaking Storm
A lifetime. The blinking of an eye. Two days long. Whispers to Michi, shrouded in bathhouse steam or the silken rustle of the dressing room, those small pale hands with the sword-grip calluses she’d never noticed before running a comb through her long, dark hair. Whispers beneath a blanket of shamisen music, the whisking and steeping of tea, Aisha’s diamondhard eyes betraying no hint of treachery. A fast Fushicho sky-ship with fake permits waiting at the docks. A note from Akihito, written in broad, clumsy kanji, a promise that he and Kasumi would be with the Kagé as they freed Masaru from his cell. A rendezvous in Yama city, one week from today. Sleepless nights and excuses for Hiro and long hours alone, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
And no word from Kin.
She stared at the mechanical arashitora on her dresser, warm moonlight flickering on the brass, waves of leaden butterflies in her stomach. There was no chance she would sleep tonight. She wished the moon would be on its way across the sky and the dawn arrive, bringing with it Yoritomo’s grand gala and distracted guards and empty arena. To be out. To be free.
Lightning kissed distant skies. The first autumn storm was rolling down from the Iishi, stretching dark fingers toward Kigen Bay. She prayed it would be dry tomorrow, that Susano-ō would hold back the black rain long enough to let Yoritomo’s soldiers avert their eyes and drop their guard.
She held her tantō tight in her hand. She saw the picture clearly in her mind: Yoritomo standing tall on his podium, arms spread wide as the sun sank below the horizon and he called for the fireworks to begin. The people’s faces upturned and soft with wonder as the dragon cannons and kindling wheels lit up the sky, spitting colored fire and blue-black fumes to choke all the good little boys and girls. And like a stone they would drop from the skies, thunder and blinding light behind them. And in their wake there would be blood, and screams, and the last male of Kazumitsu’s line lying dead on the ground.
An empty throne.
A new beginning.
War.
“Godsdamn this accursed heat,” Hajime swore.
“Aiya,” Rokorou muttered. “Moaning about it will help?”
The two guards were slumped in the thin shade of the prison gate, sweat