The clang of metal against stone ricocheted in the darkness, startling her into awareness. A lone torch flickered through the gloom ahead. She shifted her eyes to the floor, her hands and feet turning to ice even as the blood flashed hot through her body. She kept her gaze averted until a vaguely familiar groan echoed through the darkness before them. Its echo haunted her, almost halting her steps, making her fear to look upon its source in unfettered light.
She breathed deeply before recoiling against the smell. It was not just the expected rot and ruin of a space bereft of sun. The closer Mariko and Kenshin came toward the flickering torch, the stronger the scent of singed flesh permeated the air.
They burned ōkami.
Mariko fought to maintain her composure. When the light of the torch crackled nearby, her vision distorted. She forced herself to look away. Forced herself to remain silent and accept the cold glare of truth.
A huddled heap lay against a wall of darkness before her. Iron bars separated her from the broken young man lying within. The metallic scent of blood filled Mariko’s nostrils, making her gaze swim.
They’d burned him. Beaten him. Bled him. And for what?
ōkami had already surrendered. Not once on their journey had he put up a fight.
Which meant that pure suffering had been the goal.
Fury and humiliation warred within her. Calling upon all the strength Mariko could muster, she forced herself to tuck both emotions away, deep behind her heart, where no one could find them.
No matter what they have done to ōkami, I will look upon him without fear.
“Kenshin-sama … it is good to have you once more in the imperial city.” When the emperor spoke, Mariko took a moment to form a memory. At first glance, much about Minamoto Roku appeared uninteresting. His skin was inordinately pale, his features forgettable, especially as he stood alongside his taller, far more commanding brother. The grandest thing about Roku was his garments. They were made from a costly silk of burnished gold.
On second glance, however, there was definitely something more to be found beneath the surface. Though he was deep in a dank pit, far beneath the splendor of the world above, Roku spoke as though he were in the midst of a comfortable gathering between friends. A lighthearted affair, perhaps in a flowering garden, rather than a meeting in this gloomy underworld.
In contrast, his elder brother did not appear at ease. Not in the slightest. Prince Raiden reminded Mariko of a caged beast.
At least he has the grace to appear unnerved by these circumstances.
Mariko desperately wished to learn more about ōkami’s condition, but she refrained from glancing his way. She did not trust herself to remain coolheaded. Not yet.
The emperor continued addressing Kenshin in the same unhurried manner. “I have no doubt you will enjoy your stay here even more than before. I’ve already composed a message to our favorite teahouse in Hanami; you’ll recall it from that unfortunate incident several weeks ago. As a reward for your success in apprehending this criminal and rescuing my brother’s betrothed, please be my guest there tomorrow night.” A crisp nod punctuated his directive.
Kenshin bowed, ever the ideal samurai honoring the wishes of his sovereign.
“You may return to your rooms now, Kenshin-sama,” the emperor finished.
Though Mariko knew something had broken between her and Kenshin, her heart lurched in her chest at the thought of her brother leaving, as though his presence had provided her with a last bastion. A final buffer between Mariko and imminent doom. After passing to one side of Prince Raiden, Kenshin paused to glance back at her, and the torchlight flashed across his eyes. Their darkened centers delivered Mariko a final reminder:
Show them nothing.
In silence, her brother took his leave. Once his steps had faded into the murkiness beyond, the emperor shifted her way. “Lady Mariko.” He canted his head as he regarded her. “The adage must be true. Even in war, flowers will bloom.”
Despite the disgust rising in her throat, Mariko bowed even lower than her brother had. “It is an honor to be in your presence, my sovereign.”
Another choice made. Another part of myself lost.
But honor would not gain her a footing in the imperial court. Nor would it spare those she held dear.
“It is unfortunate that it had to be under such circumstances.” Minamoto Roku smiled at her. As with his mother, the young emperor’s expression almost surprised her with its show of kindness. Had she not spent most of the afternoon in the presence of the dowager empress, Mariko might have been fooled.
But no member of this family would ever fool her again, even for a moment.
Mariko bit down hard on nothing before standing taller. She struggled to keep her voice even. “I, too, am deeply saddened about the circumstances surrounding my arrival in the imperial city. But my sadness has been eclipsed by gratitude. I am thankful to be here now, my sovereign, and doubly thankful to have been rescued by my brother and my betrothed.”
The emperor stepped closer. Too close. He stood barely taller than she, his gaze nearly level with hers. Roku’s eyes drifted across her face, as though he were taking note of every feature, every flaw. “I’m sure you are wondering why I asked to meet you here, in the bowels of the Golden Castle. It is because I wished for you to witness how we punish those who dare to challenge us. And especially how we punish foolish young men who dare to touch another man’s bride.” He glanced toward the cell at his back, his expression imbued with meaning.
Heat flared across Mariko’s cheeks as he spoke. Knowing she owed it to ōkami—and to herself—Mariko followed the emperor’s gaze and took in the dreaded sight of the boy who’d become a source of strength for her, even in a short time. The boy who carried her heart with him, wherever he went.
This boy, who was her magic.
Covered in blood and grime, the son of the last shōgun lay in a pile of filthy straw. His chest rose and fell with each of his heavy breaths. A faint wheeze whistled from the back of his throat. One side of his face had swelled to the point of being unrecognizable. He remained silent and still as they spoke around him, causing Mariko’s heart to ache with worry.
Nevertheless, she kept her features locked. Immobile.
“Are you gratified to see the sight?” Roku asked. Again he tilted his head to one side, and the gesture reminded Mariko so much of his mother.
She forced herself not to wince. “Gratified, my sovereign?”
He continued studying her, searching for chinks in her armor. “Did this traitor not steal you from your rightful place and force you to work like a beast of burden for him?”
As with the dowager empress, Mariko suspected that Roku did not simply wish to hear the correct reply. He wished to unravel his own truths, concealed beneath the things people said—the things they felt in the darkest reaches of their hearts. Because of this, Mariko realized it was possible to err by agreeing with him immediately and offering the right response. True ladies of the nobility did not condone violence, at least not outwardly. She remembered the day she’d first laid eyes on ōkami, when they were children. The day his father died. She’d seen the blood on the stones. The pain in his eyes. Her nursemaid scolded her for looking upon it all without batting an eye.
Ladies were supposed to look away, and Mariko refused to do so, even as a child. But if she channeled outrage now, it would come across as disingenuous. A strong affirmation often masks a denial. It was something her father used to say.
Mariko weighed the words on her tongue before speaking them. “I am never gratified to see the suffering of any creature, my sovereign. Even thieving cowards.” Still refusing to look away from the evidence of ōkami’s silent suffering, she threaded her fingers and pinched at the meat of her palm. With utmost focus, she latched on to the pain. Let it radiate through her, so it reached her face from a place of truth.
So it masked the rising fury.
Roku stood tall, his eyes unflinchingly upon hers. She envied the emperor’s ability to hold his features in complete control, without the use of any diversions. It was a skill she lacked.