Mariko’s eyes went wide. She caught the relief flooding through her and despised herself even more for it. “You let your sister become a maiko?”
“She’s safe in Hanami. Safer than she would be here in Jukai forest. And safer than she’d ever be if anyone in Inako found out who she is. Who her family is.” He slid closer, and Mariko flattened against the rock, wishing it would move with her. Wrap her like a cloak. “I’m . . . trusting you with this, Sanada Takeo. Against my better judgment. If you tell anyone who Yumi is, I will personally throw you to the jubokko and watch it drain you of your life’s blood without a moment’s thought.”
“I told you.” Mariko stared back at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He did not smile. “And you need to tell me you understand what I’m saying.”
“Do you want me to promise?”
“Promises mean nothing to me.” ōkami’s tone was soft. Severe. “They are words said to assuage any fool who wishes to believe.”
“Then what do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me you understand that I will kill you—without pause—if you ever betray me.” His onyx eyes glittered. “Do you know the story about the rabbit who played with fire?”
He burned to death, along with all his loved ones.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Mariko replied.
ōkami’s brows lifted in question.
She clarified, though her hands balled into fists beneath the water. “I understand you will set me to flame if I ever betray you.”
But not if I destroy you first.
—
ōkami briefly considered telling Ranmaru about his most recent interaction with Sanada Takeo. Briefly considered telling his friend about his suspicions.
That the slight boy with the doe-like eyes had been sent by their enemies in Inako to spy on the Black Clan.
But whenever ōkami had voiced his concerns with regard to their newest recruit, Ranmaru had been unmoved. Almost uninterested. And if ōkami had to disclose all that happened, he would need to tell his best friend what Sanada Takeo knew about Yumi.
Never mind that it was a lie couched in truth.
A lie meant to test their newest recruit.
Anything ōkami revealed about Yumi—whether or not it was true—would anger Ranmaru greatly. And after all Ranmaru had sacrificed for him, ōkami would rather die than cause his friend pain.
As it was, ōkami had thought long and hard before disclosing this information. But the best way to gain trust was to give it. And ōkami would murder Sanada Takeo with his bare hands before he let any actual harm come to Yumi.
This would be the first of many tests ōkami had designed for the young Lord Lackbeard. The wheels of the second test were already set in motion.
ōkami’s suspicion had begun to form the night they’d first met Sanada Takeo by Akira-san’s watering hole. It had deepened when he’d caught sight of the boy climbing like an insect across the rooftop. And solidified when ōkami had pressed a forearm into the boy’s throat and heard him all but squeal like a girl.
ōkami had immediately regretted handling him in such a rough manner. Then felt a wave of irritation at his regret. Everything about this boy was green. Untried. From the soft skin of his hands to the ridiculous way he completed even the simplest task with such unnecessary precision.
The boy had obviously been sent here to ingratiate himself to Ranmaru. To act the part of the bumbling young fool in desperate need of guidance.
Only it had become abundantly clear to ōkami that Sanada Takeo was far from being a fool. The boy was too clever—in words and in deeds—for that.
ōkami knocked the hair from his eyes. Refrained from kicking a wayward stone beside his foot. Why had he not just left the boy in Inako, as Ranmaru had suggested?
He’d had the opportunity. ōkami could have left Takeo in the bowels of the Iwakura district. Takeo could never have found his way back to the Black Clan’s camp. Instead ōkami had felt strangely watchful of him. Almost protective.
Sanada Takeo had been chosen to spy on them for this exact reason.
To prey on their weaknesses. Ranmaru’s wish to inspire.
ōkami’s need to protect.
The boy had always made him uncomfortable in a way ōkami had been unable to adequately articulate. Whenever Sanada Takeo was around, he made ōkami question everything about himself.
And he did not like it.
His suspicion had only solidified in the grey fog rising above the waters of the hot springs. The best way for ōkami to confirm it was to watch the boy.
And wait for him to make a mistake.
TWISTED TALES
Kenshin had spent too many nights in Inako.
He’d attended too many gatherings and been forced to partake in too many insipid conversations. And gleaned virtually nothing of value.
Despite all his attempts to learn whether any member of the nobility bore a grudge against his family, he had turned up empty-handed. Kenshin was not good at manipulating conversations in the same skillful way as his father. The way that enabled him to control the pace of the boat without even touching an oar. Without those around you ever knowing.
No. Neither he nor Mariko had ever been gifted at that. Mariko was far too direct. And he was far too uninterested.
Today Kenshin planned to leave Inako. To return home.
A failure once more. In his eyes. And the eyes of his father.
But he would first revisit the forest and stop to question the elderly man at the watering hole again. He was lying, and Kenshin no longer had any tolerance for deception. He’d dealt with pretense too often of late.
In an imperial city rife with it.
Kenshin stood beside the curved railing of an arched bridge in the first maru of Heian Castle. The glossy finish of the balustrade was red—smooth and cool beneath his touch.
At his back, crisp footsteps drew close. “I hear you are leaving.” Roku spoke to him in a measured, lyrical voice. As though he wished to emulate a bird in song.
Kenshin turned to bow. “I have no interest in dallying in Inako any further, Your Highness.”
“But you did not find what you were looking for.” As usual, Minamoto Roku did not ask questions. He pried in other, far more insidious ways.
In response, Kenshin said nothing. Hoped his face did not disclose anything of value.
“I wish to help you, Hattori Kenshin.” Roku’s smile formed slowly. Too slowly to be real. “Though my brother has yet to admit it—even to himself—I know he is quite troubled by the death of your sister.”
“I do not believe Mariko to be dead, Your Highness.”
“Of course.” Roku nodded. “I’ve since learned why those men attacked us at the teahouse.”
Kenshin waited, not wanting to ask. Not wanting to be beholden to the crown prince on any score.