A geiko?
So they were not traveling to a mere house of ill repute, as she’d initially surmised. A geiko would never set foot in such a den of iniquity.
Regardless Mariko kept silent. Stewing in unspoken reprisals.
Ranmaru’s brows arched. “Tell us, Lord Lackbeard. Are you indeed untried?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Of all the questions for Ranmaru to ask, of course he would choose that one. Men left to their own devices were so sadly predictable. “I am not untried. I have been with . . . many women.” Her words were half true, at least. She was no longer a maid. Though the one and only occasion had not involved another girl.
It had involved rebellion.
Mariko recalled the face of the young stable boy fated to accompany his master to her father’s province one spring morning not so long ago. She remembered the boy’s kind smile. His enthusiasm. His obliviousness.
It was his smile that had drawn Mariko to him. Drawn him into a sun-drenched hayloft to while away a moment in her embrace.
He’d been kind. Gentle.
Only hours later had a horrible realization shaken Mariko to her core. Her actions that afternoon could have resulted in this kind and gentle boy’s death. Not once—not in the entire time they’d spent lazing about in the fragrant hay—had she paused to consider what might happen to the boy if they were caught. Her anger with her parents had been too sharp. Her wish for control far too blinding.
She considered ōkami’s words from a fortnight past:
Anger is an emotion that poisons all else.
Even in Mariko’s thoughts, it did not sit well to admit the Wolf might be right about something.
The morning of her undoing, she’d dressed in the clothing of a peasant. In this disguise, Mariko had seduced the stable boy. Given him the gift her parents had recently traded for the emperor’s favor. The gift her parents had calculatingly sold.
Despite the risks, not once had Mariko regretted her decision, though the act itself was awkward. Not unpleasant, but definitely not worth the fuss. And absolutely not worth ceding control.
But it had been Mariko’s first time, and—for that one time only—she’d wanted her body to be her own. The decision to be hers and hers alone. Her body was not for sale. It did not belong to her parents to sell to the highest bidder. Nor did it belong to Minamoto Raiden or to any other man.
She remembered Chiyo telling her that finding one’s match was like finding one’s other half. Mariko had never understood the notion.
She was not a half. She was wholly her own.
A hand waved before her face. When Mariko’s vision cleared, Ranmaru’s features came into focus as he attempted to draw her back into the present.
“What were you thinking about just now?” the leader of the Black Clan asked. “You disappeared.” Though his words were nonchalant, his look was as sharp as a razor.
“Family,” she said smoothly. “And entitlement.”
Ahead of them, Mariko thought she saw ōkami slow his horse. But he did not look back. Nor did he lean toward their conversation. It was possible she had imagined him easing up on his pace.
Ranmaru continued studying her sidelong. “Interesting that you link the two together.”
“I don’t find it interesting at all. Family can entitle you to many things. It can also feel entitled to much from you in return.”
“Is that why you ran away from yours?”
Mariko swallowed. She’d known all along she could not escape answering questions about her past. Men like Ranmaru—even ones as young as he, with such ready charm—did not rise to positions of power on blind faith alone.
A simple lie—threaded from truth—could be Mariko’s best answer. “My father arranged for me to marry. I wished to do otherwise. When we could not come to an agreement on the matter, I left.” She kept her explanation unembellished. Abrupt.
“You wished to marry someone else?”
“No.”
“So then you are not one of those poor fools enamored by the idea of love?” he teased.
She scowled. “Certainly not.” At least in this, a lie was unnecessary.
“You don’t believe your great love is out there, simply waiting to be found?”
“Do you?” Mariko pitched her voice low. Graveled with disbelief.
Ranmaru’s broad lips spread into an easy smile. “I believe the stars align so that souls can find one another. Whether they are meant to be souls in love or souls in life remains to be seen.”
Mariko found herself momentarily at a loss. It was . . . a lovely sentiment. Were she dressed in the fine silks of a young girl, she would have felt her gaze soften. Her cheeks grow pink.
Beautiful words were beautiful words, even to the most practical of minds.
Instead Mariko focused on the worn fabric of her reins. Coughed with undisguised discomfort.
“There,” Ranmaru pronounced, his tone one of supreme self-satisfaction. “I’ve managed to embarrass Lord Lackbeard simply by talking about love. And not once did I mention anything about women.” He turned toward ōkami, his palm outstretched. “You owe me five ryō.”
Mariko froze in her saddle, her posture rigid. “That—is a lie.”
“Which part?” Ranmaru blinked.
“You mentioned Yumi.” She sniffed. Deepened her speech to a drone. “The most beautiful girl in the empire.”
At that, the Wolf started to laugh. It began softly, like the rumble of a drum. Then it rose to a steadying rain. It wasn’t a rich kind of laughter. Its sound didn’t fill Mariko’s ears with its honeyed resonance. But it was clear and deep, much like the color of his eyes.
And a part of her couldn’t help but think—were he another boy, in another time, in another place—Mariko would have liked to hear ōkami’s laughter.
Would have enjoyed being the cause of it.
But he was a member of the Black Clan. The band of mercenaries who had tried to kill her. Who had slaughtered Chiyo and Nobutada.
She hated this boy and all he stood for.
It was dangerous for her to consider anything else, even for a moment.
Mariko grasped her reins tighter. As though she were taking firm hold of herself. “Do I receive any share of the gold?” She looked to ōkami, her features expectant.
“No.” He didn’t hesitate before responding.
“I saved you money. Shouldn’t I receive at least half of it as a reward?”
“Taking half my money isn’t saving me anything.”
She spurred her horse closer to his. “You thought Ranmaru could embarrass me by talking about love?” A sneer touched the edges of her lips.
“I think it’s remarkably easy to provoke certain reactions from you.”
Mariko flinched. Opened her mouth. Closed it.
ōkami smiled. “It’s better when you say nothing. That way I don’t have to point out how freely you lie.” He rode on, the rope behind him losing its slack.