But for now?
They would be two girls racing across the rooftops of Inako, with freedom coiling through their hair and their shadows fading into the dusk.
Together.
More Than Love
You won’t believe what she did next.” Mariko leaned forward conspiratorially as she continued working in near darkness. “That same man who yelled at the melon vendor tried to filch Dragon’s Beard candy from a little boy. Yumi was incensed, so she stole a chamber pot and emptied it on his head.” She snickered while tying the last little vial to the loop on the end of the string. “He screamed as though he were being murdered. We had to leap over two nearby rooftops so he wouldn’t catch us. I almost fell, but I haven’t laughed so hard in forever.”
Grinning, ōkami took hold of the other end of the string, sliding the vial past the iron bars of his cell, over the strip of moonlight, and into his waiting hand.
“If only her brother had been able to see that,” he said.
Mariko met his gaze, her eyes wide. “Would he be mad? Should I not have told you? I was trying to share something lighthearted.”
“No, I asked you to tell me what you did today.” ōkami’s laughter was quiet and warm. “I just didn’t realize you’d clambered onto the city’s rooftops to terrorize the populace with Asano Yumi.”
Mariko gnawed at her lower lip. “I wouldn’t want to get her in trouble with Tsuneoki. I … really like Yumi.”
“Since I’m currently in chains awaiting execution, her brother likely won’t find out anytime soon. But in the event my circumstances change …” Though his face still appeared bruised and battered, ōkami’s grin turned sly. “I can’t make any promises about staying silent. If you wish to offer me a bribe, I would not protest.”
“That’s not the least bit amusing.” Mariko cut her gaze. “Only you would jest about dying.”
“I think it’s appropriate, following a story about a man being drenched in someone else’s waste.” The chains by his feet jangled as ōkami braced his elbows on his knees. “The best jokes end with shit or death.”
At that, Mariko laughed again. The same kind of laughter she’d shared with Yumi earlier that evening. It had been the first time in a long while that she’d allowed herself the luxury. Indeed there had been a moment just yesterday when she’d wondered if she would ever laugh at anything again.
Upon returning to the castle grounds, the first thing she’d wanted to do was tell ōkami what had happened. To laugh with him about it. Sometimes it frightened Mariko how much he had come to matter to her.
“Is the lock cold yet?” she asked softly, so ōkami would not detect the emotion in her voice.
ōkami reached down into the small hole beside his foot. The sound of shifting metal coiled into the night air. He sighed. “Not yet.”
Mariko exhaled with frustration.
It’s taking too long.
The night prior, Mariko had brought a pilfered spoon to ōkami. She’d instructed him to find a soft space in the earthen floor near his legs. To dig a small but deep hole, large enough to fit the lock securing his chains.
Her idea had been to weaken the metal by exposing it to the kind of cold that never saw the sun. The kind that froze into the earth and never thawed, even during summer. In her chamber, she’d crushed remnants of charcoal she’d collected from beneath the castle. After storing the powder in two empty cosmetic vials, she’d brought them to ōkami, thinking to pour them into the lock and spark a controlled burst of fire within the mechanism. Hoping it would give way.
“I wish it weren’t so warm outside,” she said. “If the lock doesn’t frost over, it may not work.”
“I would not be disappointed in you if it failed, Mariko.” ōkami’s voice was thick. “You astound me at every turn.”
Mariko glanced around for a way to change the subject. Her eyes settled on the stream of moonlight cascading from the narrow window cut high above. It made her long to be bathed beneath its cool glow, fast asleep in ōkami’s arms.
“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.
“I imagine the moon would be a thing of beauty on a night like this. But I prefer what I’m looking at now.” His eyes remained focused on Mariko as he spoke.
ōkami had been right when he’d said Mariko eschewed most sentiments. But this was a feeling she could not ignore. A vital feeling, like a hand being burned when held too close to a flame. “You likely say that to all the girls who rescue you,” she mumbled.
He did not smile. “They are a candle in the sunlight compared to you.”
Mariko blinked, embarrassment blossoming beneath her skin.
ōkami rested his head against the wall and looked up, intensifying the shadows on his face. “Actually you are nothing like sunlight. You’re something else entirely. A well at dusk. That’s where you exist for me. In that place where it’s still and dark and deep.”
A different kind of discomfort washed over her. A mixture of pleasure and pain. She did not find it unsettling, though the sensation was not what she’d imagined it would be. The stories from her childhood had made love seem poetic and grand and tragic all at once, not this odd blending of opposites.
Loss had taught her yet another lesson. Real love was more than a moment. It was everything that happened after. Chaos in one instant, simplicity in the next. Everything and nothing in the space of a simple breath.
It was clarity, sharp and numbing, like a winter’s morning.
When Mariko said nothing, ōkami laughed. “Don’t let your mind escape you.”
“I—” She cleared her throat, searching for the right words.
“You don’t have to say anything, Mariko. I already know.”
It galled her to realize how well ōkami had come to know her in such a short period of time. But Mariko would have it no other way. A part of her knew she should tell ōkami how she felt. To admit it aloud, so that it could never be ignored or denied. But Mariko stayed silent. Mere words felt hugely inadequate. And she wouldn’t have the right words anyway. Not now.
“It’s getting late,” ōkami said. “You should return to your chamber.”
“I don’t … wish to leave.”
“And I don’t want you to go, but the longer you stay, the more you risk your safety.”
I should tell him I love him. What if I never see him again?
Mariko gritted her teeth. She would not tell him how she felt from a place of fear. Though she’d learned to embrace the it—to make fear serve her instead of control her—Mariko knew better than to let it dictate something so precious.
“I’ll return tomorrow night with some firestones.” Her voice rasped with all she could not say. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll devise another way.” Already her mind began working through possible options.
“Sleep well, Lady Mariko. You are loved. It isn’t enough, but it’s all I have.”
Mariko gathered her things, her brow furrowed, her thoughts a jumble. Wordlessly she counted the paces toward the stairs leading up from the castle’s underbelly. Despite her best efforts, regret had already begun to take root in her chest, as though she’d failed yet again. In all respects.
No. I will not let these fears rule me. I have better things to do with my time.
ōkami was right. Love was not enough. It wasn’t enough to convince ōkami to cast aside his doubts and fight. And it wasn’t the reason Mariko had offered to come to Inako. They both needed more than love. More than their heart’s desires. They needed a way to bring about action.
And Mariko did not have that answer. Not yet.
Hattori Mariko slipped soundlessly through the courtyard, her path lit by the light of a sickle moon. As she paused between the painted posts supporting the covered walkways, white pebbles crunched underfoot several paces behind her.