Haruki stood. Walked around the newest drawing, his head canted in consideration.
Quite suddenly, the metalsmith stopped pacing. “Come with me,” he said, his tone crisp. Haruki proceeded to march down the hill, his long legs carrying him fast. Mariko ran to keep up as he strode toward another tent across the way. A larger tent, with a guard posted at its entrance. The tent to which Mariko had been trying to gain access ever since she was first brought to the Black Clan’s encampment against her will.
The tent of Takeda Ranmaru.
Outside the entrance, several younger members of the Black Clan watched two weathered veterans play a game of Go. All appeared to be betting on the outcome, copper and silver links dotting a worn tatami mat. Several smaller coins had been thrown to the wayside, almost slipping out of notice. Mariko slid one beneath her sandaled foot, to surreptitiously pocket it later.
There could be a time I might need money.
Before Mariko had a chance to collect the coin, Haruki paused near the entrance, waiting for her. With what Mariko hoped was an innocent smile, she moved forward, quickly dragging the copper coin beneath her straw sandal.
Haruki began speaking to Ranmaru even before Mariko came to a stop beside him. Despite what she’d initially thought, the metalsmith was not one to linger without purpose. “His idea isn’t a bad one. The weapon itself would be small. Light. Much easier to aim than a traditional kunai. But the time and cost it would take to make it almost negates its value.”
Of course the leader of the Black Clan did not look surprised to see them. Nor did he appear surprised to learn of Haruki’s conclusion.
As Mariko had suspected, Yoshi had told Ranmaru about her invention.
Mariko opened her mouth to speak. And was unceremoniously pushed forward by the tent’s newest arrival. An arrival whose scent made his presence known even before he came into view.
Warm stone and wood smoke.
By the grace of the old gods, Mariko managed to remain mostly in place when ōkami rammed an elbow into her side, clearing the path before him.
“I sincerely apologize,” she said to ōkami, trying her best to keep her store of sarcasm in reserve. “I guess it must be quite difficult to see that which is directly in front of you.”
Well. She did try.
“No.” ōkami’s face wore a silent challenge, his eyes glinting as he glanced back at her. “I saw you.” For an instant, Mariko thought she also caught a trace of amusement as he brushed by. “And even if I hadn’t seen you, I definitely smelled you. When was the last time you bathed?”
That same awful feeling of being mocked took hold of Mariko. Vicious, unrelenting hold. Making her feel so much smaller than those around her. So much less of everything when all she wished to feel was taller and stronger and braver. So much more. It made her afraid to be herself. Afraid these men would see how every step she took each day was a lie.
Enough. This is not the time to be weak.
Instead of letting the fear allow her to shrink into herself, Mariko let it feed her.
It collected in her stomach. Twisting in her throat.
Reshaping into anger.
No. She did not have time to be angry with ōkami. Being angry with him meant she cared. And she absolutely did not care. It was far easier not to care.
Mariko pursed her lips, glowering at the leanly muscled back before her.
When ōkami realized she’d kept silent at his provocation, he peered at her over one shoulder. The confusion that passed across his face almost made Mariko’s efforts worth the trouble.
Absentmindedly ruffling his hair, the Wolf glided toward a corner of the tent, settling on a pile of silk cushions. Then he closed his eyes as though he meant to rest.
“How was Hanami?” Ranmaru asked ōkami, disregarding his friend’s obvious desire to sleep.
At her right, Mariko heard Haruki sigh to himself.
ōkami ignored the metalsmith’s quiet judgment. “As one would expect.” With a yawn, he burrowed into the cushions.
Hanami?
Of course this lazy boy with little regard for honor frequented the most infamous pleasure district in Inako. That, at least, offered Mariko an answer as to where he’d been disappearing every other day.
Hot on the heels of this newest realization came a different series of questions.
Inako was several hours’ ride from the forest.
“You went to Inako?” Mariko asked automatically. “Why would you journey so far simply to go to Hanami? Are there not pleasure houses nearby?”
“Pleasure houses?” he scoffed. “It’s clear Lord Lackbeard does not have the first clue about the joys Hanami has to offer.” Though his eyes remained closed, one side of ōkami’s lips curled upward. Ranmaru frowned in response.
Mariko bristled. “Though I’ve never seen Hanami myself, I have every idea what happens in a—”
“Liar.”
She crossed her arms. Irritation snaked through her chest. Yet Mariko made the decision to say nothing, as she’d found it to be the best response in situations like these.
When she knew words would not serve her well.
ōkami’s dark eyes flashed open. Mariko had to admit it was an admirable feat. How he was able to shift from casual apathy to absolute awareness in a single breath. “Interesting.” He unfurled to standing. Glided toward her, once more the shark seeking blood in the water. “I called you a liar, yet you’ve said nothing to refute that. Unusual, considering your regard for all things honorable.”
The closer ōkami moved toward her, the more Mariko’s worry collected. The more she wished to retreat. Sometimes he saw her too clearly for comfort.
Again the irritation gathered in her stomach. Knotting into anger.
I will not yield to my emotions.
ōkami stared down at her, just as he had that night they’d first met. Mariko stood her ground, disregarding her desire to flee.
“It’s obvious you haven’t the faintest clue what Hanami is,” he said softly. “You lie as freely as you breathe, yet claim to value honor above all else.” His laughter was a brush of air and sound. “What other secrets are you hiding beneath that cool head of yours, Sanada Takeo? And what would it take to steal them from you?” he whispered, his eyes shimmering like black ice.
Blood rushed up Mariko’s neck, into her face. As before, she stoked her fear into fury. Into a strange kind of heat that began to swirl in the space between them.
“You don’t know the beginning of me.” She trembled as she spoke. “And . . . you will never see the end.” It was as close to a threat as she dared.
His smile was cool. Appreciative. “I’ve made you angry.”
“Anger can be a good thing,” Ranmaru interjected, his features unreadable. “It can harden you. Make you stronger.”