Yukiko leaped from the bath and threw on her clothes, hair clinging to her skin like seaweed. She drew her tantō and dashed barefoot into the muted evening light. Buruu was on his feet, wings spread in a show of threat, broken sparks of electricity skirting his feathers and making the shadows dance. Yukiko took position beside him, his wings at her back. Arms spread, knife in hand, wisteria perfume strung across the twilight. She could feel the anger in him, the rumbling deep inside his chest. When she spoke, the word almost emerged as a growl.
“Kaori?” “You must think us idiots, eh? Troublesome little firebugs without a brain between us?”
“Kaori, what are you talking about?”
“Just deckhands on a sky-ship, hai?” Kaori’s lips were peeled back from her teeth. “You and your little friend here?”
“I never said he was a deckhand.” Yukiko frowned, narrowed her eyes.
“You never said you served the Shōgun, either,” Kaori hissed, spittle on her lips. “And yet you wear the imperial sun on your shoulder. Is Yoritomo so arrogant that he brands his infiltrators before sending them up here to spin their little webs?”
Yukiko swallowed, instinct bringing her hand up to her tattoo.
Oh, no.
WE SHOULD KILL THEM.
They’d cut Kin’s throat.
ACCEPTABLE.
“Yukiko, who are these people?” Kin asked, voice feeble, face twisted in pain.
“Let him go, Kaori.” Yukiko took a step forward, white knuckles around the grip of her tantō, bloodless cheeks and flashing eyes.
“You really think me an idiot, don’t you?” Kaori laughed. “I let this boy go, your beast tears us to pieces. How did you pressgang it into Yoritomo’s service? Its kind is almost extinct because of your Shōgun. Is it blind, or merely stupid?”
“He doesn’t serve the Shōgun.”
“It serves you,” spat Isao. “And you serve Yoritomo.”
“I’ve had this tattoo since I was nine years old. That doesn’t make me a spy.” She raised the knife, Buruu’s growl filling the air. “Now, let my friend go.”
“Your friend, eh? Then perhaps you can explain this?”
Kaori tore away the fluid-soaked bandages around Kin’s chest and throat, exposing the black bayonet fixtures studding his skin. The boy moaned in agony, his face pale as death.
“What the hells are these? They reek of the Guild’s hand.”
Yukiko sighed inwardly, licking her lips.
Be ready for anything, Buruu.
“He’s an Artificer.”
There was a murmur of outrage among the assembled men. Kaori drew her wakizashi, the sharp sound of polished steel ringing out across the treetops. Isao grabbed Kin by the neck and delivered a savage kick to the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees. The long, razored knife sat poised above the boy’s throat.
“Say the word, Kaori. I’ll gut this pig right here.”
“No, don’t!”
Yukiko took another step forward, and several of the men turned on her, weapons ready. The arashitora stood up on his hind legs and bellowed, wings cracking at the air. The atmosphere became tinged with a faint static electricity, the hairs on everyone’s flesh standing rigid. A flock of groggy sparrows spilled from the leaves and tumbled off into the night, squawking an angry protest. The men backed off a few steps, palms sweating on the hafts of their weapons. Nestled inside Buruu’s mind, Yukiko could feel the power radiating across their shoulders, the electricity crackling down their spine and reaching out along their feathers.
They growled with her voice.
“Hurt him and we will kill you all.”
“What goes on here?”
The question rang out high and clear across the throng, snow-white wisteria petals falling loose and tumbling into the empty spaces between the cedars. Daichi walked slowly across the footbridge, hands clasped behind his back, Eiko several paces behind. His katana was tucked into his obi, still sheathed, gilt cranes taking wing across gleaming black lacquer. The crowd parted before him, respectful, heads bowed. He drifted between the men and placed a restraining hand on Isao’s shoulder. The boy loosened his grip, but still pressed his blade to Kin’s throat.
“Daughter, why are there blades drawn among our guests?”
“Father, this girl is a spy.” Kaori never took her eyes off Yukiko, sword still clutched in her hand. “She wears the Shōgun’s irezumi on her shoulder.”
Daichi raised his eyebrow and looked at Yukiko, stroking his mustache.
“A deceiver . . .”
Buruu growled again, the report rolling down their spines and landing in each man’s gut.
“Daichi-sama, Kaori is mistaken.” Yukiko’s words tumbled over each other in their haste to escape. “My father serves the Shōgun, and I wear the imperial mark. But I’m not here to spy on any of you. We crashed in a sky-ship, just like I said. This boy was the Guildsman on board. We had no idea anyone lived up here. Please believe me.”
“A Guildsman?” Daichi looked down at the boy with hatred. Ice cold. Crystalline.
“We are not spies!” Yukiko insisted.
“As for you, I cannot say,” the old man growled. “But this boy is our enemy. His Guild is a rotten sore on the face of this land.”