Smoke in the Sun (Flame in the Mist #2)(2)

Close by, an unintelligible shout of fury rang out into the sky.

As the soldier’s ire grew, the girl squeezed her body tight, the effort straining her core. She was lucky the training she undertook daily had honed her limbs into such lithe lines. Had made her aware of every muscle, every gesture. She held her breath, locking her fingers and feet into place.

The soldier kicked the barrel a final time before racing back into the streets.

After several moments had passed, the girl finally allowed herself to relax. Permitted her body to seek a more comfortable position. She stayed hovering in the shadows until the sounds of tumult melted into the pounding rain. Then—with deliberate care—she reached for the wooden post and let her feet sink into the muck with a muffled thud. The girl straightened, removing the mask from her face.

As she turned to leave, the door leading to the enclosed portion of the forge slid open. Startled by the sound, the girl let the mask fall from her hand into the mud.

Before her stood a woman with greying temples and an unforgiving stare.

Though the girl’s features remained expressionless, her heartbeat faltered in her chest.

The woman would be near her mother’s age, if the girl had to guess. If she shouted a single word, the girl would be caught. Fear keeping her immobile, the girl stayed silent as the woman inhaled slowly, her eyes narrowing in understanding. Then she jerked her chin to the left, directing the girl to flee.

Bowing with gratitude, the girl vanished into the rain.

She doubled back countless times as she wove through the rain-slicked streets of the Iwakura ward, ensuring no one could follow her footsteps. When she neared an arched stone bridge—crossing into a grove of snow-white dogwood and pale pink cherry trees—her gait took on a different cadence. Her shoulders dropped, and her neck lengthened. It was automatic, the moment the scent of night-blooming jasmine curled into her nostrils.

Still she did not use any of the main thoroughfares, save for the bridge itself. Concealed beneath a shower of dying petals, she hailed a jinrikisha and settled under its worn canvas canopy. Her eyes shuddered closed, and her lips parted as they silently counted each of her breaths.

Ichi.

Ni.

San.

Shi.

Then the girl lifted her chin. With deft motions, she restored her disheveled clothing until nothing appeared amiss. Reformed the topknot at the crown of her head into an elegant coif. Like the gifted quick-change artist she’d been trained to be, the girl transformed from a daring boy into a demure mystery. When she finally arrived at the teahouse gate, she knocked twice, pausing for a beat before rapping her fist five more times in quick succession. A shuffle of feet and a series of whispers emanated from beyond the gate door before it swung open.

Though these servants knew to unlatch the door at this series of knocks, no one was there to meet the girl, as she’d expressly requested. So none of them would ever be forced to lie about having seen her. The girl’s misfortunes were not worth the lives of all the young women here, and the cost of asking them to harbor her secrets was far too great.

She made her way across the polished stones of the garden, past the burbling brook and its three miniature waterfalls, into a music of tinkling laughter and lilting shamisen. Then she floated by the elegant bonsai garden to walk behind the teahouse itself, toward a smaller structure nearby. Outside an intricately carved sliding door, her trusted maidservant, Kirin, stood waiting, a carafe of clean water in her hands.

Kirin bowed. The girl returned the gesture.

As the girl removed her sandals, the freckled maid–servant pushed open the silk-screened sliding door leading into a chamber flanked by two large tansu chests crafted of red cedar and black iron. The girl stepped over the raised threshold and took a seat before a polished silver surface positioned behind rows of dainty cosmetics and glass vials.

She stared at her reflection. At the elegant lines of her face. The ones that concealed her so well within these walls.

“Would you care to have a bath drawn?” Kirin asked.

“Yes, please,” the girl replied without looking away.

The maidservant bowed once more. Turned to leave.

“Kirin?” The girl swiveled in place. “Has anything been delivered to the okiya in my absence?”

“I’m sorry.” Kirin shook her head. “But no messages have come for you today, Yumi-sama.”

Asano Yumi nodded. Returned her gaze to her mirror.

Her brother, Tsuneoki. would seek her out soon. She was certain of it. Following ōkami’s surrender in the forest three days ago, she and Tsuneoki could no longer afford to remain idle, darting between shadows, leaving whispers in their wake. Nor could they continue to allow their painful past to direct the course of their future. It was true Yumi’s elder brother had hurt her. Deeply. With his lies about who he was. With his blind insistence that he alone possessed the answers. That he alone made the choices.

Though his choices left Yumi alone and apart, always.

Years ago, Tsuneoki’s negligence had driven Yumi to scale the walls of her perfumed prison and take flight across the curved tiles. Her brother’s stubborn conceit had given her wings. And with them, she would fly, anywhere and everywhere.

Absentmindedly, Yumi toyed with the alabaster lid of a jar filled with beeswax and crushed rose petals.

Her brother wore his smiles like she wore these paints. A grinning mask, concealing fury and heartbreak. Their mother used to say they should be careful of the masks they chose to wear. For one day, those masks could become their faces. At this warning, Tsuneoki would often cross his eyes and slide his tongue between his bared teeth, like a snake. Yumi would double over with laughter at the sight. When they were young, her brother had always made her laugh. Always made her believe.