Even with my best efforts, I’ve failed to convince him. Of anything.
Just as she thought her cause utterly lost, a figure shifted nearby. Mariko’s betrothed moved toward her from his place beside ōkami’s cell, his torch still wavering in his grasp. “It is not the sight of suffering or death that should thrill you. It is the sight of our sovereign’s justice.” Prince Raiden’s thick eyebrows gathered. His eyes raked over her, not in appreciation but in consideration. As he caught sight of her tears, the tension in his arms seemed to abate. “I imagine the idea of torture must be disturbing to you, nonetheless, as a woman.” Though Raiden’s manner oozed of superiority, his expression looked tinged with something … strange. Something unexpectedly earnest. Something Mariko had yet to encounter within these walls.
Compassion? From this brutish boy?
The very idea made Mariko feel as though insects were scuttling across her skin.
When Raiden drew even closer, his body curved protectively around her, as though he were a cocoon and she a wingless creature caught in a trance. Mariko stepped away out of habit, twisting to meet his gaze. When Raiden realized what he had done—that he’d instinctively moved to protect her—furrows formed on either side of his mouth.
In that moment, Mariko knew it was more important than ever for her to begin channeling every skill of Asano Yumi she could espouse. Even then it would likely never be enough. A certain amount of confidence was needed to navigate the waters of artful seduction. Mariko was confident she did not possess it.
These worries fraying at her resolve, Mariko forced herself to keep her thoughts at bay. Gazing up at the stern and unforgiving countenance of Raiden, she brought to mind a different face. One of a boy in black with scarred lips and a sly smile. A boy who understood pain in a way these fools could not even begin to fathom. The same boy who undoubtedly watched her from his cell, in calculating silence.
“Please, my lord,” Mariko said to Prince Raiden, her words measured and clear. “I wish never to see the son of Takeda Shingen ever again. He stole me away from my family. Away from my future. Away from … you,” she breathed without a sound. A fat tear trickled down her cheek. Mariko lowered her lashes, her body tingling with awareness.
It’s too much. It won’t work.
No matter how hard I try, I will never be Yumi.
The doubts crept into her throat. The blood began to well in her palm, threatening to catch notice, even in the darkness.
She remained still, her breath bated.
To her shock, a large hand took hold of Mariko’s elbow. Though it was a warrior’s roughened palm, its touch felt awkwardly gentle, as though it were unaccustomed to offering comfort. “I will see to it that you are returned to your chambers at once.” Raiden spoke gruffly.
When Mariko opened her eyes once more, she caught sight of the emperor in silent conversation with his elder brother. If Roku was surprised or displeased at this turn of events, he did not show it. The two sons of Minamoto Masaru held each other’s gazes for a moment before the emperor nodded once in dismissal.
Her betrothed bowed in deference to his younger brother. The next instant, Raiden directed Mariko’s elbow forward, away from the blood and the ruin.
Every part of her wanted to turn back, one last time. To offer ōkami a measure of solace. At least the same strength and solidarity he’d given her. The son of the last shōgun remained quiet throughout these exchanges, but Mariko felt the weight of his gaze. Heard the strain of his thoughts. And she wished more than anything that she could share in them.
But Mariko did not so much as look over a shoulder. She knew better than to let either the emperor or his elder brother suspect her sentiments for even an instant. Instead Mariko permitted Raiden to lead her back toward the stairs. The recent ordeal had caused her shoulders to tremble, but she did not prevent them from shivering as she would have normally done, for she’d learned much in the last exchange she witnessed between the two brothers.
Signs of her fragility moved Prince Raiden, even when nothing else did.
Even when it had the exact opposite effect on the emperor.
Mariko intended to take every advantage of this, especially if it meant seeding enmity between the brothers. When she and Raiden started ascending the stairs, she pretended to stumble as though she’d missed a step. Her bloodied palm braced her fall, and she pressed her skin into the rough timber beam along the wall. With a soft cry, she inhaled abruptly. A whiff of the discarded charcoal used to heat the braziers floated into her nostrils, and the crystallized dust swirled down her throat, its flakes causing her to cough.
Raiden caught her against his side. “Are you injured?”
Her expression rueful, Mariko lifted her bloodied palm into the light. “I’m not badly hurt, my lord. Just clumsy.” She smiled a hesitant smile, lingering to gnaw on her lower lip. “Thank you … for being there to catch me, my lord.”
Raiden let his eyes run the length of her. He paused on the soiled hem of her kimono. On her trembling hair ornaments. On her bloody hand and tearstained face.
Then made a decision.
“You’re welcome, Mariko.”
Secrets of a Bamboo Sea
Whenever Tsuneoki had time to himself, he liked to reflect upon life. To consider the many decisions—both good and bad—that had led him to where he was now, strolling alone through a forest of bamboo, with nothing but sparkles of sunlight to guide his way.
As a boy, it had been easy for him to make rash decisions. Youth was a powerful excuse for folly. After Asano Naganori betrayed Takeda Shingen—accusing him of moving against the emperor—a chasm formed between factions of the nobility. In the chaos following, Tsuneoki lost his best friend. Then—a mere month later—he lost his own father. Alone and afraid, he swore to do whatever it took to earn ōkami’s trust again.
And Tsuneoki had done anything and everything. Even sold his own soul.
Not long after the death of Takeda Shingen, Tsuneoki’s father was executed for treason as well. Tsuneoki fled his family to follow after ōkami, leaving his mother and younger sister in the care of others. It seemed so simple at first, to disappear with his best friend on another adventure, as they’d often done before. To forget everything, especially his sorrowful mother and his wailing sister.
But they were so hungry on their own. Cold. ōkami was lost. Tsuneoki was desolate. Against Yoshi’s advice, they met with a bedraggled wielder of magic, who brokered a deal for the boys in the winter of their tenth year.
With the aid of blood oaths and a black-stoned dagger, Tsuneoki and ōkami gave their futures to demons of the forest—his to a nightbeast, and ōkami’s to a shapeless demon of wind and fire. Tsuneoki learned to control his beast before it wrought havoc on everything it encountered. ōkami’s demon was harder to control, but these demons of old relished the chance to once again take shape and be more than spirits sighing in the night.
The two boys swore to never betray their demons.
To follow the light of the moon.
To never have children of their own, for the demons would always be their masters. These decisions had been easy for boys barely ten years of age. Simple things to barter for the power to move about without fear.
But now?
Tsuneoki pushed aside the bright green shoots in his path. Paused to catch his breath before continuing his trudge through the sea of swaying bamboo. He’d long harbored the hope that one day ōkami would return to his rightful place. Begin to care about things of significance again. Tsuneoki started the Black Clan—this band of wayward rōnin, set on offering hope to those in need of it—with a mind to inspire his best friend to greatness. But ōkami built a wall around himself, preventing him from feeling anything of significance, be it pain or joy or sorrow.
Nothing Tsuneoki did or said managed to breach that wall, not once in years.