The Lotus War - Kinslayer Part 23

"Court me?" A short laugh. "I believe it's customary to do that before you bed me, my Lord Magistrate."

He leaned close and kissed her, tasted salt on her lips, wine on her tongue.

It had seemed foolish at first, to be spending so much time in Michi's room. But the memory of her kiss on the day they met lingered on his skin, and with all the turmoil at court recently, he supposed a few moments in her company would not be noticed. And so he'd visited each day, watched as she whisked and steeped his tea, eyes drifting up slowly to meet his, gift him with that small, shy smile. Questions about Lady Aisha and the Kitsune girl's a.s.sault had given way to queries about her family, her childhood. And two evenings ago, as he bowed to take his leave, he'd straightened to find her standing only a breath away. Lips parted. Cheeks flushed. Shivering. She had breathed his name, just once, like a prayer.

And he had not been able to help himself.

He smoothed the damp hair from her cheek, caressing her skin softly as he may.

"Would it make you happy to be on my arm in public, Michi-chan?"

"Of course." She sat up straighter, bedclothes clutched about her. "But I'm not certain that should bring any comfort, considering I'd walk on the arm of the Endsinger herself to escape these rooms."

Ichizo leaned back, searched her eyes. "Would you rather still be in prison?"

She lowered her gaze. "A cage with silken sheets is still a cage, my Lord."

"I am trying. It will take time." He touched the old scar fading on her cheek. "I know how you suffer."

"But do you?" The small dark line Ichizo had begun to hate appeared between her brows. "No charge has been brought against me, and still my honor is in question. The Kitsune traitor who slew Yoritomo tried to kill me too. I have the scars to prove it."

"I know." He ran a finger across the top of her breast. "I've seen."

"You declare affection in the same breath you make jest of my disgrace?"

"These things take time, Michi-chan." He straightened with a sigh. "Lord Hiro is about to broker deals with both of his political rivals. Yoritomo's old bodyguard have thrown in with him to a man. The Guild already back him. The Daimyo's chair will be his by weeksend. The plight of Lady Aisha's ladies means very little to him right now, I'm afraid."

"And how is my Lady?" Michi met his eyes again for just a heartbeat. "I'm not allowed to see her. Though she betrayed our Shgun, she was my friend as well as my mistress. I loved her, Ichizo."

"Precisely why you should stay away from her. If you wish to prove your fidelity, consorting with a traitor is the last thing you should do."

"Lord Hiro is your cousin. Who can convince him of my innocence if not you?"

"My cousin is a complicated man, love..."

"Promise me." The furrow in her brow deepened. "Promise you'll get me out of here."

"I will try."

She sighed, wiped at her eyes. "Trying is not doing."

"All right, all right. Izanagi's b.a.l.l.s, woman. I promise."

A smile, bright as sunlight slipping out from behind the clouds. She grabbed his hand, kissing his fingertips, one after another.

"Oh, my Lord," she sighed. "Thank you. Thank you for everything you've done. Your kindness ... I can think of no way to repay it."

"I am sure we can remedy that when I return." He straightened again, backed away to the door. "But now I must go, or Hiro will have my life and all will be for naught."

She planted a feather-light kiss onto her fingertips and blew it to him. "I'll miss you."

"I will return, fear not."

He slipped from the room with his serving retinue, leaving her alone amidst the fading footsteps. He did not see the smile fall from her lips like a mask at the end of a kabuki play.

He did not see her wipe his taste from her lips.

He did not hear her whisper.

"I fear nothing."

She was six years old when the Iron Samurai came to Daiyakawa. She remembered the sound their armor made, like a snake pit full of twisting metal, heavy boots drumming on the sun-cracked road. The bushimen came behind, so many that the dust in their wake was as tall as a tsunami. But really, the Iron Samurai would have been enough. The other soldiers were present for show; the feathers of a peac.o.c.k spread to impress his rivals.

The morale of the Daiyakawa men was worn paper-thin, courage hanging by a thread. It was rage that had given them the strength to defy the government and sow their fields with whatever crops they saw fit, plant the magistrate's head on a spike along the Kigen road. But rage soon gave way to fear; to realization about what they'd done and where it must inevitably lead. Michi was only a child at the time, but in later years she would understand the listless steps and hollow eyes: the look of men who believe they are already dead, and are simply waiting for the world to confirm their suspicion.

But her uncle was a man of courage. He spoke with the voice of a tiger, the voice of a man whom other men would follow. Urging them to resist to the last. That if this was to be their end, then it should be worthy of remembrance. But the Iron Samurai cut through their overturned wagons and pitiful barricades without pause, sheared through leather armor and pitchfork spears like torchlight through shadow. And as they dragged her cousins and aunt into the street and executed them before him, Michi saw her uncle's spirit shatter like gla.s.s. In that last moment, in that final breath before they bid him plunge his own knife into his gut, she knew he was broken. And the world knew it too.

She looked at the samurai captain, into cold steel-gray eyes behind his tiger memp, and vowed she would never share her uncle's fate.

Hard years followed, as Daiyakawa's farmers tried to rebuild their lives, forget their exhilaration as the guardhouse went up in flames; their tiny moment of infinite possibility. The memory was a curse to most, a leaden weight on their backs, doubling the burden of the Guild yoke retied around their necks. And if they spoke of the riot at all, it was with hushed voices in darkened corners, shoulders slumped and tongues bitter with the taste of regret.

Michi's parents had pa.s.sed when she was five, and now without family to care for her, she felt like a burden and was treated as one. She longed for the day she would be old enough to find her own way. To leave Daiyakawa and the hungry ghosts haunting its streets far, far behind.

And one day a samurai came to the village. Old-fashioned swords were crossed in his obi, gilt cranes taking wing across the lacquer. He wore black cloth, like a man in mourning, a broad, bowl-shaped shappo on his head. A young girl walked beside him, covered in the dust of the road, long fringe and a black kerchief obscuring her features. And as they stood in the village square and the man tilted the hat away from his face, Michi recognized his eyes. The same eyes that had watched from behind an iron tiger mask as his men carved her kin to pieces.

Their captain.

She had screamed then; s.n.a.t.c.hed up a switch of wood and charged, swung it with all the might a nine-year-old could muster. And he caught her up and held her tight against his chest, held her as she screamed and kicked and thrashed and bit, calling down the curses of all the G.o.ds upon his head. Held her until there was nothing left inside her, until she sagged, broken-doll limp in his arms.

And then he spoke. Of regret. Of guilt's burden. Of the falsities of the Way of Bushido, and the crimes he had committed in the name of loyalty and honor. Of a group to the north who saw the truth, who had vowed as she had done, never to kneel again, and never to break.

He spoke with the voice of a tiger. A voice other men would follow.

"My name is Kage Daichi," he said.

And in that moment, she knew she would follow him too.

18.

CONTOURS.

Ayane was starting to look like a human being.

Her stubble was a shadow across her scalp, black as the water in Kigen Bay. Even inside her cell, the mountain air had done her good, and the few supervised moments the Kage allowed her in the dappled sunlight had given her skin just the slightest hint of color. Fresh fish and wild rice had filled out the flesh on her bones, and when she laughed, her eyes lit up like kindling-wheels on Lord Izanagi's feast day.

Kin was seated outside the bars of her cell, a sheet of rice-paper and some charcoal sticks spread out before him. The girl sat opposite, legs crossed, spider limbs curled at her back.

"You look better with eyebrows," he smiled.

"They feel strange." Ayane rubbed her forehead, frowning.

"Well, they suit you. Very distinguished."

When she stuck out her chin and wiggled an eyebrow in dramatic fashion, they both laughed. Just like real people.

"I had a dream last night," she said. "It is the first one I have had aside from my Awakening in as long as I can remember. Has that ever happened to you?"

"No." A small shake of his head. "I only have the one. Over and over."

"Awful is it not?"

"I'm used to it." A shrug. "What was your dream about?"

The girl stared down at the fingers entwined in her lap. A faint blush lit her cheeks.

"You," she said.

Kin was unsure where to look. He cleared his throat, lips twisting into something between a grin and a grimace, feeling his own cheeks flush. Embarra.s.sment stole over Ayane's face and she gave a short, uncomfortable chuckle, eyes searching the room, finally seizing on the paper spread out at his feet.

"So ... this is your infamous defense perimeter?"

"Ah, it is..." He nodded, lunging toward the new topic as fast as his lips would take him. "A schematic, anyways. The real thing is almost complete. We salvaged seven heavy shuriken-throwers from the ironclad ruins, set them up near the pit traps. I've modified the feeders to work on hand-cranked power, but we're still getting pressure loss in the firing chambers." A shrug. "I can't figure it out."

"I do not know why you are asking me." Fingers curled beneath her chin, earth-brown eyes scanning the drawings. "You are Munitions Sect. I am just a False-Lifer, remember?"

"You were a False-Lifer."

b.u.mblebee lips curled in another small, embarra.s.sed smile. "I confess I am still getting used to thinking like that."

"Another set of eyes always helps. Besides, you have a way with machines. I can tell."

"It would be easier if I could see the modifications firsthand. Instead of just plans."

"I'm working on it," Kin shrugged. "The Kage have other things on their minds."

"Arashi ... I mean, Yukiko?"

"It's been eight days. She should be back by now."

Ayane looked at him through the bars, head tilted. "Are you concerned?"

"A little." A sigh. "But she's with Buruu. He'll take care of her."

"Do you miss her?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, just..." Ayane sucked her bottom lip. "Just the way you speak about her, is all. I thought perhaps she was special to you."

"Would you mind if we didn't talk about this?"

"I am sorry." She reached through the bars and placed a gentle hand upon his knee. "I am certain she is all right."

Kin gave her fingers a soft squeeze, turned his eyes to the blueprints.

"Isn't this a pretty picture..."

Ayane started at the voice, Kin turning more slowly, cold fear greasing his insides. They were standing in the doorway-three boys around his age; sword-grip hands and battle-hard stares. He felt a surge of adrenaline, the instinctive reaction of a trapped animal, flight and fight tumbling over one another inside his head.

He pulled himself to his feet, jaw clenched, staring at each boy in turn.

"h.e.l.lo, Guildsman." Isao ran a hand along the thin stubble on his chin, up through the topknot of long, dark hair. His face was angular, cut rather than molded by the Maker's hand. Short sleeves showed burns where his irezumi used to be, hard muscles and tanned skin.

Two other boys crowded the doorway behind him. Kin knew their names: small and wiry Atsushi, the boy who'd found Ayane in her pit. His big crooked-faced cousin Takeshi, who'd interrupted Yukiko's kiss in the graveyard. Arms folded, jaws set, goggles hiding the flint and steel in their eyes. Both growled salutations ending with the word "Guildsman."

"My name is Kin," he said.

"Your name is s.h.i.t," Isao spat.

"What do you want, Isao-san?"

"You gone, wh.o.r.eson," Atsushi growled.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Isao stepped forward, fists clenched. He was a little younger than Kin, but bigger. Weatherworn and battle-tested.

"You're going to the Yomi underworld for what you've done to these islands. You and this little spider-legged b.i.t.c.h." He gestured at Ayane, pale and wide-eyed with fright. "You and all your kind are poison."

"They're not our kind, Isao." Kin licked his lips, tried to keep the anger from his voice. "You have no idea what it cost us to be here. You don't know anything about us."

"I know you're a traitor." Isao took another step closer, just a few feet away now. "A liar who sold out his own kind. And now you're up here spreading your cancer among my family. The little toys you make for the children. Your marvelous machines spitting poison into-"

"They're not chi-driven, you imbecile," Kin spat. "The shuriken-throwers are just hydraulics and gas-power. You don't need to burn lotus to-"

"What did you call me?" Isao's lips pulled back from his teeth.

"You heard."

"Please..." Ayane began. "We want no trouble."