Was it possible?
A part of Kenshin wanted to ask Raiden and Roku if anyone in the city of Inako knew the identities of those in the Black Clan. If any member of the nobility relied on their services in any capacity. But if Kenshin did ask, then he would be divulging his true intentions in coming to Inako.
And he did not yet trust anyone enough to do that. Not yet. Much less any member of the Minamoto clan. Not when he was still so uncertain as to where their loyalties might lie.
Kenshin watched the steady hands of the servant girl as they moved to stitch the wound on his arm.
Mariko had always been a terrible seamstress.
—
That night—in his dreams—Kenshin saw a boy in black wearing the mask of his sister’s face.
Beneath a pair of saurian eyes.
THE HOT SPRINGS
Mariko had not thought this could be possible.
But she was being rewarded by the Black Clan. Despite the fact that she’d recently injured their champion at a teahouse in Hanami.
Twice over.
Ranmaru had thanked her personally for everything she’d done to warn them at the teahouse. About the imperial troops. About the arrival of the crown prince. All she’d done to save ōkami.
And—though the lies blistered her ears—Mariko was not one to return a gift.
She settled into the steaming water, luxuriating in the feel of its silky warmth. It seemed to sap the very weariness from her bones. The sadness from her skin.
It had been so long since Mariko had had a proper bath.
As a reward for all her efforts, Ranmaru had given her leave to travel up the mountain path cut into the outcropping near Haruki’s tent. Toward a gathering of hot springs, positioned above the lake that served as another natural boundary of the Black Clan’s camp. Of course Ranmaru didn’t trust her fully yet—as he’d instructed Ren to remain at the base of the footpath, ready to catch her should she try to flee—but at least it was a beginning. A bare measure of trust.
Trust Mariko desperately needed in order to rise in their ranks.
As she settled against a smooth stone—pausing to let its surface knead the tension from between her shoulders—she stopped to think of all that had transpired last night.
In truth—despite the enormous peril to her brother—it had been a rather successful evening. Mariko had learned a great deal. Experienced things she’d never dreamed of experiencing. Taken part in an actual fight.
Soon Takeda Ranmaru may be asking me for advice. After that he might even be confiding in me. Telling me every secret I wish to know.
The possibilities warmed her spirits almost as much as the water warmed her bones.
A cloud of steam eased up her neck as Mariko lowered herself beneath the surface of the hot springs, until the water touched just beneath her chin. She sighed loudly. Such hot springs were a miracle. A miracle heated by the sharp, almost mint-like vapors emanating from the mountain, as well as the earth beneath it. The same combination of elements that produced the bright yellow rocks littering her surroundings. Mariko was familiar with these slightly noxious stones. There had been a time when the ancient mountain in the distance had erupted, spewing molten earth into the sky and acrid ash into the air.
Strange how the same thing that could destroy so many lives could also create such healing waters.
The steam rose before her face, clouding her vision. Mariko untied her hair from its topknot and leaned back, soaking her filthy scalp.
Just as she’d settled into a place of serene calm, the branches nearby rustled. Mariko’s head snapped up. She almost yelped at the sight before her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded of her intruder. Hating that her voice trembled at the last.
ōkami stood along the edge of the hot springs, studying her coolly. “You’re not the only one to have sustained injuries last night.”
Mariko leveled him with an equally dispassionate stare. “Wait your turn, Asano Tsuneoki.”
“Keep speaking to me in such a manner, Sanada Takeo. See if I don’t toss you from the water, ass over feet.” ōkami began untying his kosode.
Alarm flashed through her, from her nape toward her toes. Briefly Mariko offered thanks to the heat of the water. At least it should mask the rush of color rising in her face.
Her reaction was not because she was about to see ōkami naked. Mariko had seen naked men before. Nudity did not bother her. But if ōkami came close to her. If he saw what the water and steam might fail to conceal . . .
All would be undone.
She backed away, then caught herself. Far too hasty. If she fled, Mariko would only draw further attention to herself. Not that she could in fact flee.
As she, too, was naked.
Also there was the matter of Ren, undoubtedly waiting for her to even attempt running, so that he could threaten to cut her into pieces or feed her to Ranmaru’s horse or afflict whatever ghastly torment he’d dreamed up for the day.
Mariko kept her eyes steady, all while allowing her sight to blur. Even if she’d seen naked men before, she did not wish to add the image of ōkami to her memory. Something about it felt . . . unseemly. Untoward.
When a brief image of tawny, lithe muscle cut across her vision as ōkami entered the hot springs, Mariko swallowed.
“Could you not at the very least grant me this moment of peace?” she grumbled while glancing away. “I did in fact save you.”
ōkami snorted. “Yet another lie. As far as I’m concerned, you nearly killed me. Twice.”
“The wound on your back is only a flesh wound.” Mariko crossed her arms beneath the water. “And the wound on your head is barely a scratch.” A groove formed between her brows. “But I suppose it is possible these tiny injuries could be causing you a great deal of pain. If you’d like, I suppose—”
“What?” ōkami stood suddenly, and Mariko ignored the way the hot water rolled down the sinew of his arms. The way the steam unfurled above his skin in thick coils. “Tiny injuries? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be stabbed in the back by a spinning six-bladed dagger?”
Mariko canted her head. “I’m sure Yoshi has a tea that can help ease your pain.” She cut her eyes. “And perhaps Yumi can offer her assistance the next time you’re in Hanami.”
“Tea?” ōkami pointed at the purple bruise on the side of his jaw. “You honestly think tea will repair the damage of a metal lantern being swung at my face?”
“I swung that lantern to save you!” Mariko insisted. “What happened after could not be helped.”
“Said the scorpion.”
Mariko’s mother had once said the very same thing to her. It rankled her to hear the words fall from ōkami’s scarred lips. Her hands balled into fists beneath the water. “I am not the scorpion.”
“Of course you are. You’re absolutely willing to kill something in order to save it.”