After, Gekko pressed his lips together in a thin, ghostly line. Jiro blinked and asked, “Really?”
“I think they’re connected,” Rakesh said, slamming a fist onto the table. It trembled beneath the blow. “Maybe it’s something we could use to escape.”
Gekko threw a dismissive hand in the air. “There you are. Escape. Escape. Escape. There’s no escape from Iskawan, and you’ve almost died trying. Can’t you just accept that yet?”
Rakesh shrugged. “No.”
Jiro put a hand on Gekko’s shoulder. “Just hear him out. He may have a point.”
Gekko scowled. “Not you too.”
“Just listen,” Rakesh said, interrupting both of them. “The three of us could break into that building. We could find that box! Maybe it’s our way back.”
“Maybe it’s insane!” Gekko snorted derisively. “The Hangman will kill you. Or worse, he’ll cripple you. You’ll die on the streets of Iskawan as a cripple. That’s almost worse than being a Vakum. They don’t seem to feel anything. You’d know pain every single moment that you were dying if The Hangman tortured you.”
“I have a reason to live.”
Jiro and Gekko stared at him, dumbstruck. Rakesh held his breath, but didn’t offer them anymore.
“Please,” he finally said, leaning close. A fairy-fire swooped in, illuminating their faces with strange, dancing light. “We must try.”
Jiro grinned.
Gekko hung his head.
Saemon
Saemon stood on the balcony at the great hall of the imperial palace, the Jade Cradle. Walls of jade glittering with swirls and flecks of gold designs painted by local artisans surrounded him. The hall’s thick wooden double doors, so heavy that they required several servants to move them, were open, spilling sunlight into the room. Saemon’s angular face and spotted skin betrayed his age—or wisdom as many would say. Thin lips. Penetrating eyes. Broad shoulders. Even the dark hair that fell to his shoulders testified to a man of strength that towered over all who approached him.
Next to Saemon, Isao swallowed so loudly the Emperor could hear.
Isao stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes trained forward. Although similar to his father, he had more narrow shoulders. A smaller frame. Shiny black eyes rife with intelligence, not ruthfulness. Not in the same way.
“Be calm, my son,” Saemon said. “Your life, and the lives of all those you serve, will be well served by this decision.”
Sounds of movement from outside preceded the arrival of the Nari caravan as the horses, carriages, and carriers disentangled from it. Members of the Clan wound their way through the numerous guards and servants who accompanied the convoy.
The chief steward stood at the doorway as the first of the Nari Clan stepped forward.
Saemon caught a brief glimpse of movement, saw a swatch of red hair, and murmured, “Ah. Here comes the White Fox himself.”
“Sheng, Danjuro of the Nari Clan has arrived,” the steward said.
Danjuro, ruler of the Nari Clan, strode into the great hall with sure steps. His deep blue eyes, the color of the ocean, held an intelligent expression. Slim and tall, he carried himself with an air of surprising authority.
Saemon felt a moment of certainty: This marriage had been the right thing. An alliance with a Clan with a strong ruler would cement the power of the Empire.
“Sheng Saemon.”
“Gunag Danjuro.”
Both Clan rulers bent at the waist, bowing in a show of due respect for the other. When Saemon straightened, he met Danjuro’s sure gaze.
“You are most welcome, Nari Clan. We look forward to the celebration of our alliance and the marriage of our Clans.”
Danjuro turned to Isao, who immediately bowed. Danjuro hesitated for a mere breath, then returned the bow. Isao sucked in a low breath at the rare display of honor, then smiled.
Saemon relaxed. Isao would make him proud, he thought.
“It is an honor to meet you, Gunag Danjuro,” Saemon said, glancing over Danjuro’s wiry shoulder. “We have long anticipated your arrival.”
“May I present my family and people?”
“It would be our pleasure.”
“My wife, Yishi Milwan.”
A woman in an elegant wrap made of deep red fabric swirled with lines of brown and blue stepped forward. She held up a creamy hand with flawless skin. Her hair, perfectly coiffed at the back of her head, shone in the glittering light.
“Sheng Saemon,” she murmured, bowing. “It is a pleasure to meet you and unite our Clans.”
“Nishu Yishi, it is our pleasure.”
Yishi’s eyes immediately went to Isao. Her eyes studied him with all the awareness of a hawk.
Of course. A mother was a mother no matter the politics, Saemon thought.
When a glimmer of warmth entered her eyes and a gentle smile formed on her lips, Saemon knew that Isao had passed the initial greeting with Ren’s parents.
“And now the most important person of all,” Danjuro said, stepping to the side with a sweep of his arm. “My daughter, Ren.”
The girl – so young as to barely be considered a woman – shuffled forward. She had fair features and soft-looking skin. Her long strands of red hair were tugged into an elegant braid wound with delicate flowers. Her eyes, so expressive, seemed filled with sadness.
A frown tugged at Saemon’s lips, but he didn’t let it go.
Ren bowed, her elegant silk wrap shuffling over her waifish body, and murmured, “It is an honor, Sheng Saemon.”
He inclined his head. “Ren. Welcome to the imperial palace.”
She attempted to hide her concern behind a brave face, but her entire body trembled when she turned to Isao.
The two regarded each other for a long pause before she bowed to him as well, her lips pressed into white lines. “It is an honor, Isao, to finally meet you.”
Isao bowed in response, nearly stumbling over his words. “Thank you, Ren, for coming.”
Saemon watched Isao’s expressive eyes, wondering what was hidden in their suddenly murky – clearly startled – depths. He brushed the concern off to attend to the business at hand as Danjuro brought his daughter, Yuna, forward. She bowed and then stood off to the side in silence.
Once he finished introducing the family members, Danjuro brought forward the rest of his party, including the Chancellor of the Nari Clan, Bramen Qin. By the time the introductions had finished, the names of those present seemed to swirl in the air, hanging as if by clouds.
“The Hiwan Clan welcomes the people of the nine-tailed fox and are pleased to have you here under such happy circumstances. The servants will see you to your prepared rooms for a rest from your travels. You will be summoned for a meal this afternoon. Please, let us know if you have any questions or need anything before then.”
The Nari Clan split off into small groups. Danjuro left with his wife, and Yuna by herself. Ren’s maid stood with her Nishu, eyes cast down.
Ren hesitated, looking to Isao, who stiffened at his father’s side. He relaxed when she didn’t say anything.
“Ren,” Isao finally said. “I look forward to getting to know you better this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Sheng Isao. Sheng Saemon.”
With a delicate little bow, she drifted out of the room, led by the head stewardess of the imperial palace.
The room cleared, leaving Isao and Saemon standing together alone. Isao opened his mouth to say something, but Saemon cut him off.
“A beautiful wife. At least you have that.”
With a click of his boots on the marble floors, Saemon cut across the room, headed for his personal quarters.
For Saemon, the day passed quickly, lost in attending to the business of the upcoming wedding. Saemon answered questions from the servants, attended to the needs of the Nari Clan while they rested in their rooms, and hoped that Isao would hold his tongue.