“More lies, little sister,” he said in a dangerous whisper, his expression turning to ice. “I saw your hands. The mud you used to make it seem as though you were being held captive. It coated the sprays of blood from battle. Why would you have smeared mud on your body if not to conceal the proof that you fought alongside them?” Each word was a small cut made with a newly honed dagger. Kenshin continued looming over her, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides. As though he wished to strike something and watch it shatter in his shadow. No trace of the brother Mariko had known and loved all her life remained. He was a warrior intimidating his quarry. A samurai intent in his purpose. The threat of violence tinged the air like a blade shining in the sun.
For the first time in her life, Mariko felt afraid of her brother. The feeling stole her breath, like claws tightening around her neck. “How could you possibly have known any of that before you let Raiden’s men try to murder me?”
Kenshin’s nostrils flared. “I am the Dragon of Kai. Do you think I would not know when a mere girl tried to deceive me?” His gaze darkened as though clouds had settled across his vision.
At the sight, Mariko tamped down the urge to strike out at him. To silence him where he stood. Horror followed the thought.
Mariko wanted to cause her brother physical harm.
This was Kenshin. Her twin. Her family. No matter how much they differed—how at odds they were in both attitude and agenda—she’d never wished to truly hurt him even once in seventeen years.
A muscle ticked in Kenshin’s neck. With visible effort, he battled against the rage teeming like an unchecked demon beneath his skin. “Do you think I had a say in what happened that night in Jukai forest? The instant I put our men in formation behind Prince Raiden, I knew I had lost all control.” He dropped his voice. “You are not foolish enough to believe I could have stopped them. And this is not about what happened that night. No words can excuse what we did to each other. You are just as much to blame as I am.” He drew closer, his toes grazing the edge of her silken hem. That same desire to strike out at him—to spare herself from being cornered by a bigger, stronger foe—caused Mariko’s fingers to ball into fists.
He is my brother.
This would always be their truth. Just as it would always be their truth if they crossed an irrevocable line right now. If Kenshin tried to hit her. If Mariko moved to attack him. It would be an action that could never be undone. There were ways for her to disarm her brother, even now. To allay his fears with falsehoods. At the mere thought, lies began collecting on the tip of her tongue.
But Mariko had lied to him for so long. It wearied her, these stories she spun like yarn to everyone around her. Just once she wanted to tell Kenshin the truth. To put an end to this dance of fury and deception. It was a risk, but her brother had kept her most precious secret in the last few days.
Perhaps it was time to trust him with more.
“Stop it, Kenshin.” Mariko decided to begin with a small truth. “You’re frightening me.”
He stood straight at her words, his face suddenly stricken. Kenshin took a step back, then stopped, his movements awkward. Then he held out a hand to help Mariko to her feet. She briefly considered rebuffing it, but gripped his palm until she stood before him, face-to-face.
“No more lies,” Kenshin said, his voice weary. “If you want me to be truthful with you, then you must do the same with me, Mariko.”
She nodded.
“Why did you turn your back on your family to fight alongside these traitors?” Kenshin asked.
Mariko hesitated for a breath. “Because I believe in their cause.”
“Their cause?” He scoffed.
“Don’t you see, Kenshin? We are like well-clothed leeches, with all our fine silks and elegant fans. We do nothing for the people who work our lands.”
“How can you say that?” Kenshin asked. “Father feeds and clothes and—”
“Our father is among the worst offenders. Have you ever gone into our rice fields and looked into the eyes of those who work the soil, day after day, with only a pittance to show for it?”
“Of course I have. We played in those fields when we were children.”
“No, Kenshin.” Mariko shook her head. “Not with the eyes of a child. And not just a passing glance. Have you ever looked at any of them and seen an equal? Seen someone who struggles and lives and breathes and loves just as you do?” She reached for his hand, her voice barely audible. “Can you tell me even one of their names?”
He did not take the hand she offered. Instead Kenshin stayed silent, his gaze searching.
“You can’t,” Mariko continued, stepping back. Giving her brother the space he needed to think. “I still cannot call a single one of them by name. It’s not enough for us to pretend to be better than they are. Because we are not. We cheat and kill, lie and steal to get what we want. And we don’t care who we hurt to get it.”
“On that point, we agree,” Kenshin said softly. “Because you are still lying to me, little sister. Still hurting me. You fight alongside the Black Clan because you are in love with the son of Takeda Shingen.”
Mariko blinked. Kenshin wasn’t wrong. But it wasn’t that simple. It had never been that simple. For an instant, Mariko thought of spinning another lie to spare herself any more of Kenshin’s judgment. But why did it matter?
Mariko was married to another. And she no longer wished to deny her heart its truth. Her eyes clear and her heart full, she stared up at her brother. “His name is ōkami.”
“No,” Kenshin replied. “His name is Takeda Ranmaru, and he is the son of a traitor.”
Mariko nodded once. “Then I am in love with the son of a traitor.” She took a step closer, daring her brother to challenge her. “Tell me, Hattori Kenshin. What do you love? What do you fight for?” Another step. “Do you fight for Amaya?” She stopped directly in front of him. “I hope you do. Especially since you failed to fight for her when it mattered most.”
Kenshin’s hand flashed toward Mariko before she could move away. It struck her cheek in a crack that reverberated through the room. Blindsided by her brother’s blow—by the irrevocable choice he’d made for both of them—Mariko reeled to the floor, her fingers covering her cheek. Tears streamed down her face from the shock.
Kenshin’s eyes were wide, his skin paler than freshly fallen snow. “Mariko—”
“Don’t apologize.” She struggled to sit straight.
He knelt before her as he would kneel before his lord, his head bowed, his eyes averted. Her brother reached for her hand. “Please forgive—”
Mariko snatched her fingers away. Took in a steadying breath. “Look at me.”
Kenshin waited a moment, struggling to maintain control. Then met her eyes.
“When I asked about her before, you lashed out at me with words. Today it came to blows. What happened to Amaya?”
“She”—Kenshin shuddered before he spoke, his eyes darting about as though he were searching for a handhold on a cliff—“was lost. In a fire. Father and I watched while she tried to save our people. There was an explosion in our granary, and … it collapsed before I could save her.”
Mariko took both his hands in her own. Squeezed them tightly. “I’m sorry, Kenshin. Sorrier than you will ever know,” she said, her features laden with grief. “Travel safely home. Do not write to me. Do not make inquiries about me. I do not wish to see you ever again.”
The instant he laid eyes on it, Kenshin upended the low table in the center of his room. All the beautiful food—the sea cucumber and grated yam, the turnip dumplings and brightly colored radishes, an entire copper pot of crackling rice with spring onions and pufferfish—crashed to the floor, staining the tatami mats in brilliant hues.
He watched as servants rushed into the darkened room, their eyes averted, whispers of apology falling from their lips. They hurried to clean up his mess. To hide the proof of his hideous temper.
And they apologized to him as they did it.
Disgust clawed at Kenshin’s throat. He crouched to help a servant collect the shattered pieces of a porcelain bowl. Startled by his sudden attention, the girl nearly fell over.
“Please forgive me, my lord,” she murmured, her voice shaking.
Kenshin met her gaze. “Do not apologize. This is my fault, not yours.”
Fear washed across her features. As though the girl suspected Kenshin of playing games. Of testing her. The look of terror in her eyes was exactly like the one Mariko had shown him only moments before.