by Renee Ahdieh
“Hattori Mariko has sworn her loyalty to you and to our family, has she not?” Roku continued.
Raiden nodded, his features still dubious.
“Then,” Roku said as he locked eyes on his prisoner, “your union must go forward with all haste.”
“My sovereign,” Raiden replied, “perhaps we could—”
“I will not be challenged on this, brother. By anyone.” His nostrils flaring, Roku spoke over him, his reedy voice almost grating in its force. “There is only one way to know for certain if Lady Mariko retained her honor in Jukai forest.” A gleam alighted his gaze as he watched Ōkami’s obsidian eyes flash. “Take her as your wife. And if she is indeed sullied—if she has lied to us—her punishment will be the slow death of a traitor.” He waited to see how his words hung in the air. Then the emperor met the stony face of his prisoner. “And the Dog of Jukai Forest will be there to bear witness to it.”
The Ashes of Loyalty
Escape.
And regicide.
They were notions Ōkami had not entertained in a long while. While he received the newest blows dealt by Prince Raiden, he wondered to himself at the irony of it all.
That he would have come here. Willingly. Accepted this abuse. Willingly.
Any given night on the journey to Inako, Ōkami could have escaped. Could still have escaped, if his chains had been but an arm’s length longer.
For many years, such a thing as escape had not been a cause of concern for him, because he’d always believed he would never surrender to anyone. The deal he’d made with a demon of darkness had ensured that no one could take him prisoner, so long as the night sky touched his skin. His power to move with the wind—faster than a flash of lightning—enabled him to vanish like a shadow in the sun, even in the direst of situations.
After witnessing his father’s grisly death as a child, Ōkami had sworn to the heavens that he would die before allowing any man to possess that kind of power over him. The power to murder without consequence. The power to separate a man from all he loved and rob a young boy of all he’d ever known in one fell swoop.
This boyhood vow had been the reason Ōkami had made his deal with a demon during the winter of his tenth year. He’d taken the demon’s blade of strange black rock and sworn his oath. Considered it well worth the cost to his well-being and to his future.
Though he’d risked both not once, but twice in recent days. All for the sake of love. For love, Ōkami could very well lose everything.
As for regicide? There had been a time—not long after the death of his father and the loss of his family’s fortune—that Ōkami had contemplated murdering Minamoto Masaru and being the cause of the imperial family’s downfall. Even now—with a fond bitterness—he recalled longing for the day when he would be strong enough to destroy those who had laid siege to his world.
But it had all been childish folly, this idea of revenge. The musings of an angry boy, bereft of purpose. After all, what kind of purpose did retribution provide? It was the kind that destroyed its bearer in a ceaseless cycle of hatred.
Not long after his father’s death—when Ōkami had been faced with the cold, with death, with hunger, with the echoes of ridicule—he had drawn away from such notions and instead opted for the comfort of self-preservation. At least then he would not be the reason anyone bound to him perished for the sake of revenge.
Yet here he was now, pondering the possibility of escape. Dreaming of running a white-hot blade through the heart of this fatuous emperor. Watching his blood flow through the grate meant for waste. Laughing to himself as the life dripped from Roku’s body.
Knowing all to be hopeless endeavors.
Each time Raiden’s fist connected with his skin, Ōkami felt his body brace itself, though his mind knew better; it knew nothing could spare him the inevitable rush of pain. Soon each blow melted into the next, until a steady thrum of anguish coursed through his chest, his limbs, his stomach. Until his head rang dully as though a gong chimed within.
Then the beating ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
It seemed odd that they had yet to question him. He thought at the very least they would wish to know if the Black Clan was responsible for the death of the emperor. About what these men did and why they did it. Who comprised its membership. What designs they might have with respect to the future of the empire.
Yet they had asked him nothing of import, save for what it was he truly feared.
Which … gave him pause.
Ōkami rolled onto his back and let the sounds of their speech fade as though he were submerged beneath water. Tried his best to ignore the invective in each of the words, regardless of who spoke them. Raiden wore his hate like armor, and a part of Ōkami preferred it that way. The elder brother possessed a naked, unsophisticated kind of hatred, easily seen and easily understood. Easily dismantled. The kind of hatred Ōkami had faced as a young man, with none but his father’s trusty samurai, Yoshi, and his best friend, Tsuneoki, at his side.
Roku did not wear his hatred on the surface. He masked it with cheerful grins and unnerving calm, as though he were trying to cajole or entice his victims into submission. It was a dangerous kind of hatred, because it was hard to sense how deep its roots lay. The more Roku spoke, the more his poison seeped through Ōkami’s skin, setting his teeth on edge.
Raiden’s hatred was easy to ignore. Roku’s was a winding lane beckoning Ōkami forward, into a thorny underbrush.
Ōkami’s face throbbed. Every breath he took strained the muscles in his chest. One eye was swollen shut. Nevertheless he stared up at the beam of moonlight. That single stroke of luminous white, cascading from the narrow window above. His body reached for it instinctively. Sought its solace. Its strength. The light of the night sky could be his savior, just as it had been his demon for so long.
His bare foot stretched its way, almost as though it were held in a trance. A cloud passed over the moon, shrouding his savior in further darkness.
So close. Yet so far.
Too far to be of any service.
The hateful words flowing around Ōkami continued to wend through his chest, wrapping around his heart. He would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him lowered to despair. Though his face pulsed and his chest ached, he would never let a single tear trek down his face. He would not give anyone—least of all these foolish boys playing at being men—the satisfaction.
The last time tears had flowed down Ōkami’s face had been the day his father had died, eight years ago. He had not cried once since then, not even to himself.
Ōkami resisted the urge to shout. To rage against the dying light and strike back at the pain winding through his body. It was not the pain of the repeated beatings. It was the pain of his fear. That cold, dark fear Ōkami had ignored for so long. The possibility that—no matter how hard he had fought to avoid it—there were people who’d managed to gain control over him, in their own way.
Not these young fools standing before him with their glittering weapons and radiant silks. These fools for whom power had only ever been absolute. No. Never them.
But the people Ōkami loved. The people whose laughter had wormed its way into his soul. They were the ones who inspired his loyalty, no matter the reason or the cost. It was something Yoshi had always said, when Ōkami had questioned why the wizened samurai had wasted years of his life in service to a young rōnin, fixing eggs for a spoiled little boy.
Loving someone is to lose control, Yoshi had said with a fond smile. And I promised to love you always, as I loved Shingen-sama, my loyal brother in arms.
Yoshi. His father’s faithful samurai and confidant, who had been by their sides following the disappearance of Takeda Shingen’s wife in a storm at sea. The man who had sheltered Ōkami as a lost, lonely boy. The man who had kept him safe, even when Ōkami had wished him away.
And Tsuneoki. His dearest friend. A boy racked with the guilt of his father’s betrayal. One that had resulted in the death of Takeda
Shingen, by his own hand. Ōkami had wished Tsuneoki away, too, when they were younger. Asano Naganori’s son had been a constant reminder of what Ōkami had lost. But Tsuneoki had never once faltered in his loyalty. Even when Ōkami had agreed to grant a dangerous demon a foothold in the mortal world in order to gain his power, his oldest friend had followed suit soon after, without hesitation. He’d taken a blade of black rock and made his own blood oath with a nightbeast. Just as he had when Ōkami had opted for a rootless existence, living nowhere and everywhere.
Where you lead, I follow, Tsuneoki had said. I am not afraid of the unknown. If you can do it, so can I.
And Mariko.
Hattori Mariko was the worst offender. She’d given Ōkami a reason to wish for things he’d never dreamed of having. To put everything at risk, just for a moment together beneath a blanket of mist, watching the way the water slid down her skin. He’d cursed her for it, time and again. That first long night he’d lain awake in captivity, he’d turned his eyes toward the stars, knowing he could escape if he tried, and knowing what might become of Mariko—and his men—should he even attempt to do so.
He’d cursed her then, too. Even though his every waking dream had been about her. Even when the scent of passing orange blossoms had made him smile.
Ōkami knew this treacherous would-be emperor wished to use his supposed weaknesses against him. He’d expected Roku to do as much. To tarnish everything Ōkami loved with this poison, then use his fear in an attempt to control him.
He’d been prepared for this.
Nevertheless, it did not dull the sharpness of the sniveling emperor’s words, nor the barbed statements of his watchdog brother, to have it put to practice.
The light was still too far.
Ōkami’s chains were too short. Too heavy.
And that girl. That ridiculous girl, who pursed her lips in thought and wore her intellect like a mark of honor. Who—despite a world that conspired against her—was far more ingenious than any of the men Ōkami had ever known.
He would not risk Mariko.
Not for every night sky in the world. Not even for a single star.
“It should not take much to sway the heart of a simple girl.” Roku’s venom bled into Ōkami’s mind the moment he surfaced for air. “Women are fickle creatures, willing to smile at any listening ear. The only woman a man can trust is the woman who gave birth to him, and even then, I would advise caution at all times.” His brow furrowed for a moment, then smoothed with the dawning of another smile.
It was the smile that gave Roku away. In it, Ōkami caught a glimpse of annoyance. Save for his mother, it was likely that women had been dismissive of Roku for most of his short life. Ōkami could well see how the young ladies of the imperial court had looked upon the crown prince. Smaller and less fearsome than his handsome elder brother. Second choice in all things, save the one he did not earn—his birthright.
This was Roku’s twisted truth.
“It is possible Lady Mariko harbored fond feelings for you,” Roku continued.
“Only after you surrendered did she step forward. Or perhaps it wasn’t you that drove her from the safety of the shadows. Was her heart moved by the son of Asano Naganori? My father mentioned that Naganori had a way with women.”
Ridiculous. In all respects. Yet it burned to hear this boy say it.
Ōkami began laughing. He started softly, then let his laughter rise into a low rumble. When he glanced at the emperor, his laughter died on his swollen lips, a new realization rendering his truth in starker colors. It startled him. Sobered him.
For it was like looking in a mirror.
“Is this the best you can do, Minamoto Roku?” Ōkami stood suddenly, his pulse hurtling through his veins. “You must be very afraid. Your weakness is courage, is it not?” He moved the single step forward his bindings would allow him. “Is that what you’re afraid of? To be betrayed, as your father was before you?” Ōkami’s voice reverberated against the iron bars. “Do you fear you might die as he did?” He paused, letting his words fade to a whisper. “Or maybe you’re afraid I might break free of these chains and finish what my father started.” For emphasis, he yanked on the metal links binding his wrists and feet, the sounds clanging through the dark.
As expected, the boorish watchdog at the emperor’s side brandished his katana once more, his features contorted with anger.
“There it is,” Roku said softly. “It was worth letting you into my mind if it meant giving me a chance to peer into yours.”
Ōkami lifted his chin, his eyes wide as he cursed the far-off light.
“Loyalty,” Roku said.
The blood drained slowly from Ōkami’s face, collecting behind his heart, his pulse drumming in his ears. He stilled further.
It appeared Roku had glimpsed the same truth Ōkami had.
For fear was the greatest of equalizers, save for death itself.
The emperor spoke once more. “So fitting. I should have seen it from the start. Your father died for his lack of loyalty. Of course it would be your burden now.” Satisfaction passed over his vulpine features.
Ōkami cursed himself in the same breath he cursed his tormentors.
“Now that we are at last on equal footing, shall we begin?” Roku gestured behind him, beckoning to the figure in the shadows.
Stumbling at the entrance of the cell, the strange thin man made his way toward Ōkami, the wooden box clasped tightly before him. When Raiden and the four imperial guards moved to restrain Ōkami against the wall, Ōkami responded instinctively. The reaction of a boy who’d sworn never to appear weak—never to show his fear—no matter the cost. Who’d promised the heavens he would not lose himself to a lesser man, as his father had.
Ōkami shoved into Raiden’s chest with his shoulder, then slammed his forehead into the prince’s face. Raiden grunted in pain as he recoiled, then took hold of Ōkami’s throat, the hardened leather of his gauntlet digging into Ōkami’s skin. His teeth bared in fury, the prince smashed Ōkami’s face twice against the stone wall. An imperial guard landed a well-timed blow in the center of Ōkami’s chest. Another to his gut. With a gasp, Ōkami doubled over and spat a mouthful of blood in the filthy straw, his ears ringing and his vision swimming. Blood trickled past the tip of his nose from a wound splitting across his brow.
“Enough!” Roku’s reedy voice spiked into the rafters. For an instant, Ōkami thought the emperor might succumb to the rage simmering beneath the surface. Then Roku sighed, long and loudly. “Brother, you—and your cursed temper—have ruined my plans for our prisoner’s punishment.”
His fingers still wrapped around Ōkami’s throat, Raiden glanced over his shoulder toward his younger brother, his eyebrows raised in question.
“His forehead is cracked and bleeding.” Roku inhaled, his eyes closing for a moment, steeling himself once more. “His face is a mess.”
Only a breath passed before Ōkami understood the emperor’s meaning. Realized what lay in the skeletal man’s iron-bound trunk.
Insult. Upon injury.
Gritting his teeth, he marshaled his fury. Silenced his fears.
Ōkami would need all his wits about him for what was to come.
“I … apologize, my sovereign.” Raiden’s hesitation offered Ōkami the barest glimpse into the prince’s mind, past all the rage and spite. Something about the emperor’s actions troubled his elder brother. But Raiden’s reluctance flickered once, then vanished with renewed resolve. He relinquished his hold on Ōkami’s neck the same instant the imperial guards tightened theirs. “What would you have me do?” Stepping back, Raiden bowed, again the emperor’s loyal watchdog.
“We must think beyond tradition now. Beyond what is expected.” Roku shifted closer, his nostrils flaring as he studied Ōkami’s face. “I want him to see it, to feel it—to witness his truth—for the rest of his life, however short that may be.” A spark of inspiration lighted his gaze. “Place the mark on the side of his neck.”
&nbs
p; Ōkami closed his eyes as the chains around his ankles were yanked from under him. Resentment coursed beneath his skin as he struck the stone floor, bile churning through his throat. It was followed by bitter amusement. Cold irony. Always irony. He had but to choose which feeling to wear tonight. His eyes opening—locking on the willful light beyond his grasp—Ōkami settled on the darkest kind of humor. As a child bereft of his family, Ōkami’s humor had often been the only thing keeping him sane.
The mark was meant for the forehead. Thieves and petty criminals were branded thus. Black symbols inked their crimes onto their brows, making it impossible to shed the stain of their folly. It was just as well. Ōkami was a thief, after all. And if this was to be the first of the new emperor’s forays into torture, it was a decidedly less gruesome one than Ōkami had expected.
The scarred man unlocked his box. In it was a series of small, needled blades. He lifted two jars into the nearby beam of moonlight. The first was filled with the expected black ink. The second? A sinister grin took hold of the man’s features, stretching the spray of burn scars peppering his skin. The second vial contained a thick silver substance that glowed as he swirled it. He dipped one of his needled blades in the luminescent liquid, and the edge of the blade sizzled like fish scales above a fire, distorting the space around it.
Acid. The mark would be fused to Ōkami’s skin with acid.
Twisted and unnecessary. Meant to elicit pain and nothing more.
Pressing his filthy sandal down on Ōkami’s brow, Raiden shoved Ōkami’s face into the straw.
Ōkami inhaled. He’d fought once. It had given the emperor satisfaction to see him struggle. To witness him being beaten into submission. Metering his breaths, Ōkami glanced upward to gaze upon the placid face of the emperor. He refused to give Roku that satisfaction ever again.
The next time Ōkami fought before this weasel of a sovereign, it would end in rivers of royal blood.
“What do you wish for most at this moment, Takeda Ranmaru?” Roku asked, his tone blithe.