Such bluster.
Mariko’s responding laughter was shaky. Not knowing how else to reply, she let the nervousness take hold, as though she’d been moved by his declaration, instead of mildly sickened. She knew the next words she spoke would decide her fate.
If she told Prince Raiden she no longer wished to marry him, he would free her.
How strange to hear this, when—not so long ago—it had been her greatest hope. Mariko had dreamed of this exact scenario the night before she left her home for the imperial city. Of a world in which she was allowed to remain where she pleased, unburdened by the responsibility of marriage, free to invent to her heart’s content.
It had been the vain wish of a silly young woman, absent purpose.
If Raiden freed her, Mariko would be sent back to her family. Even with his reassurances, her parents would view his rejection as a stain on the Hattori name. Fortunately, that worry no longer held the same sway over Mariko as it had before. Far more pressing matters had taken its place.
If she left her post in the imperial city, Mariko would be unable to give the Black Clan any more aid from within the castle walls. And she would never be able to save ōkami, especially if Raiden’s earlier threat came to pass.
But if Mariko married Prince Raiden …
She would have nothing she wanted. And everything she needed. A trusted position in the imperial court. In the imperial family itself. She’d earn a position next to the seat of power, and from it help to bring about the downfall of the cursed Minamoto clan and its inept young emperor.
Perhaps this was why Mariko had come to Inako. Not merely to spare the life of the boy she loved. But to be something more, just as she’d asked of ōkami. To do something more.
ōkami did not want to lead. He’d indicated as much to her on several occasions.
And Mariko did not yet know if she could. If this world would allow it.
All she did know was that she could not permit Roku to retain his power. If Prince Raiden’s revelations were true, the new emperor had already shirked his responsibilities to his most loyal bannermen, with disastrous results. A plague spreading across his land should not be second to planning his brother’s wedding or torturing a prisoner.
It would have been different if Mariko thought Roku could become a better ruler than his father. One who cared for the plight of others. But she’d already caught sight of the fearful glances exchanged by the servants attending the mercurial new emperor. Stopped to offer comfort to Isa after finding the maidservant weeping in a corner when the girl thought no one was watching.
As Mariko strolled slowly from weapon to weapon, she connected the reason for the young woman’s sadness. Isa’s family served the Sugiura clan. Perhaps they’d succumbed to the plague already.
The emperor was not even caring for those loyal to him. His brother, Raiden, was no better. A dog digging for bones in a graveyard.
She could weather this storm if she had to. All her life, Mariko had been trained to be exactly this kind of woman and nothing more. Her eyes fell on the Takeda sword nearby. It seemed to warm at her gaze, a spark catching in its center, the white skin of its shirasaya glinting like a mirror.
A trick of the light. Nothing more.
It was impossible that the sword would respond to her. She’d come to Inako to lie, steal, cheat, and kill. A bewitched blade would know her for what she was the moment it came in contact with her.
Impossible.
Despite this truth, Mariko wanted to be worthy of the Fūrinkazan. A warrior with a pure heart, no matter her devious intentions.
Raiden studied her, his features tight. Waiting.
If Mariko agreed to this marriage, she would have to be this boy’s wife. She would have to laugh with him. Share a bed with him. Share his secrets.
Be water.
In silence, she closed the distance between her and Prince Raiden. Reached for his hand, her grasp tentative. At the touch of his skin to hers, every part of her body screamed in silent horror. Ached for rebellion.
We do what we must.
Mariko laced her fingers through his. She swallowed slowly and stepped into his space. The space of a warrior, who stiffened immediately at her intrusion. Seeking to disarm him further, Mariko shifted her fingers to his jaw in a tentative touch. His brow furrowed. He glared down at her, the center of his eyes still unsure. Mariko wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. The trick worked again. Raiden’s eyes flashed toward her mouth, his grip on her hand tightening.
Then he made a decision, as he often did, without any warning.
When Raiden kissed her, Mariko did not expect it, even though she’d baited him for precisely this purpose. He was not gentle or tender. Not at all like the first boy she’d ever kissed, that afternoon in the hayloft. And he was nothing like ōkami.
ōkami only took what was offered freely and without reservations.
Raiden did not care to ask. Did not think to ask.
His lips were possessive. The feeling of his mouth moving against hers crawled up Mariko’s spine in a way that made her almost flinch.
But Raiden’s kiss was a reflection of him. Of the kind of boy he was, and the kind of man he would be. Her first lover was shy. ōkami studied. Purposeful. A boy who enjoyed playing a game for the sole purpose of getting caught.
Raiden did not play games with anyone. He pressed a large hand on the small of her back and drew her against him to deepen the kiss. Mariko returned his affection automatically. Turned off any hint of emotion, her eyes wide. When the prince released her, she took in a shaky breath. Then Mariko lowered her head. Peered up at the prince through a fringe of dark lashes.
If she was to agree to this union, she intended to walk away with the things she wanted.
Protect.
“It would be my honor to marry you, my lord Raiden.” Mariko inhaled with care. “But I have two requests.”
A Life Unchosen
Yumi rode through the rapidly fading dusk, her roughspun cloak flying about her like the wings of a bat. The piece of folded washi paper pressed to her chest felt as though it were burning a hole straight to her heart.
Tsuneoki had not answered her pleas to retrieve her from the okiya. To bring his sister into the fold and make her a member of the Black Clan. He’d allowed Hattori Mariko to join their ranks.
Why not Yumi?
She was far more practiced with a blade than the daughter of Hattori Kano. The blood of Asano Naganori ran through Yumi’s veins, the desire for revenge glowing steadily in her soul.
Still her brother denied her the satisfaction.
Anger rippled down Yumi’s throat. She hunched over her chestnut horse and urged the stallion faster. There wasn’t much time. There was never enough time.
Tsuneoki had gladly taken all the information Yumi passed his way. Her brother had cheerfully replied to anything he considered worthy of further investigation. Praised her on gathering news concerning the nobles and their countless machinations.
Yumi had been passing along this information to her brother for the better part of the last two years. Her unique position as a maiko of repute in the grandest teahouse in Hanami afforded her a vantage point from which to see the inner workings of the imperial court in a way others could only dream.