And was there a way Mariko could leverage the girl’s end to achieve her own goals?
The maiko inclined her head—drawing even closer to ōkami—and continued whispering in his ear. After a time, he nodded indulgently, and the girl smiled. She drew up one kimono sleeve to pour him a cup of hot tea, each of her movements like liquid smoke.
The more time transpired, the more it became apparent: irrespective of the maiko’s ulterior motives with regard to Ranmaru, she and ōkami shared an obvious connection. Their conversation was hushed. Intimate. Not once did an awkward moment pass between the two. ōkami never needed to ask for anything. The maiko anticipated his every wish, all while gazing at him with perfect trust.
The sight faintly disgusted Mariko. Was this how every young woman appeared in the company of handsome young men? How ridiculous. No wonder young men craved spending time in places like Hanami. Mariko would have wagered everything she had that this maiko was the reason ōkami traveled so often to Inako.
A lock clicked open in Mariko’s mind.
Perhaps this girl was also the one connecting the Black Clan to its employers. Providing the mercenaries entry to the imperial city’s many secrets. Geiko were famous for keeping and disseminating some of the most valuable information amongst the nobility. Their unfettered access to men of power often gave them advantage in matters of state.
Perhaps this girl had the answers Mariko so desperately sought.
The maiko unfolded to her feet in a whisper of silk. As she passed Ranmaru, he began to stand.
“Yumi,” he said softly, “please . . .”
The girl shot a biting glare at the leader of the Black Clan before quitting the tearoom entirely.
As Ranmaru fidgeted beside him—his features marked by distress—ōkami finished his tea in silence. The only comfort he offered his friend was to pour him another cup of sake. Then ōkami stood, following the path the maiko Yumi had taken not long before.
Once ōkami took his leave, Mariko debated how best to proceed, her mind a tangle of thoughts. It was clear Ranmaru and ōkami were in love with the same girl. Strangely this conflict had yet to seed any obvious enmity in their friendship. The only reason Mariko could gather for this was that Yumi served a far more important purpose.
The unlocked door in Mariko’s mind swung open.
Yumi had to be someone of great significance to the Black Clan.
In that moment, Mariko was gripped by the need to know what purpose the girl served. The need to know anything and everything about the maiko.
This undeniable weakness.
Awareness forcing her to take action, Mariko tossed back a final cup of sake, then decided to take advantage of Ranmaru’s distressed state of mind. She stammered as she asked one of the attendants to direct her to a place where she could relieve herself. Once Mariko left the tearoom, she made her way down a connecting corridor toward an enclosed courtyard with an elegantly raked footpath and a tiny brook snaking through its center. She whipped around the next corner before crashing to a halt.
Across the courtyard, ōkami and Yumi stood swathed in shadow beneath a low-hanging eave. They spoke in subdued tones, the maiko within embracing distance of the Wolf. Mariko’s breath drew short when she saw the expression on ōkami’s face as he listened to the beautiful girl speak.
It was an expression of warmth. Understanding. Compassion.
Undeniably of love.
The Wolf wore the look well. Surprisingly well, considering his earlier disdain for the sentiment. Had she not seen it with her own eyes, Mariko would never have believed it. In contrast, Yumi appeared strangely conflicted. Her shoulders sagged, and Mariko saw the girl’s fingers grip her silken sleeves.
When Yumi’s head fell forward—some invisible weight taking its toll—ōkami took her in his arms, pulling her close.
Offering her comfort.
Another pang of annoyance cut through Mariko, just beneath her heart.
She could not understand what ōkami saw in this girl, beyond the embarrassingly obvious. Frankly Mariko expected better of him. It was unwise of him to flaunt his affections in such a manner. Earlier he’d claimed to appreciate Mariko’s stance on love. Claimed to understand her position on emotions in general.
This entire display was foolish. A waste of his time, especially on a girl who was a potential source of conflict with Ranmaru.
Mariko pursed her lips. It did not matter if ōkami and Ranmaru were at odds with each other. Indeed it might be better if they were, for her purposes.
With a roll of her shoulders, she pressed into the shadows, trying to determine a way to move within earshot of ōkami and Yumi. She recalled what she and Kenshin had done as children when they’d wished to spy on their elders. They’d licked a finger and pressed it to one of the rice-paper screens, forming a tiny hole through which to eavesdrop. But of course the screens in this teahouse were fashioned of silk. As if its builders realized the need for utmost discretion in all corners of Hanami.
With no obvious way to intrude at hand, Mariko looked upward. The low-hanging eave on this end of the courtyard was within reach. She could grab hold of it and shimmy along the roofline. If she could get close enough, Mariko might be able to hear all that passed between ōkami and Yumi.
Mariko studied the intricately formed copper lanterns dangling at intervals along every wooden eave. They mirrored the lanterns along the exterior of the main teahouse, only these were smaller. Some were not yet lit, for it seemed the proprietors of the teahouse believed the silver light of the full moon was more than enough to illumine its inner courtyard, despite the fleece of clouds gathering above.
She braced a foot along a support beam and clambered onto the tiled roof, her movements masked by the steady din from below. Once Mariko settled in place, she considered standing, but realized the tabi socks on her feet would not provide the necessary traction to move about freely. So instead she crawled like a spider across the curved roof tiles, keeping her head low.
When she glanced over the ridge at the crest of the roofline, Mariko almost slid from her perch, her pulse on a sudden rampage.
It’s not possible.
There—standing by the waterfalls near the entrance of the finest teahouse in Hanami—stood a face to mirror her own. A face Mariko had been raised alongside. A face she understood as no one else ever could.
Hattori Kenshin.
The Dragon of Kai had finally found her.
THE SWINGING LANTERN
Mariko thought quickly, her mind ablaze.
What is Kenshin doing here?
It was possible her brother had tracked her to Inako. Though it did seem highly unlikely anyone could follow her bizarre trail through a mountainous forest, back to the imperial city. But if there was even a remote possibility, Mariko knew Kenshin would be the one to do it. Which meant it was also possible he knew the Black Clan was responsible for the attack on her convoy.