Smoke in the Sun (Flame in the Mist #2)(24)

As they strolled beneath a covered walkway—her wooden zori crunching over small white stones—Kenshin slowed.

Sixty-two paces.

“Do not react,” he said. “Not to what I’m saying, and not to what you are about to see.”

Though her first instinct was to ask questions, Mariko tamped down the desire.

Be water.

“They are trying to see how you will behave,” he continued. “If I’ve learned anything about the Minamoto family in my short time at Heian Castle, I’ve realized they are always testing you. React in a way that shows you care about the son of Takeda Shingen, and it will be used against you both.”

At the mention of ōkami and the confirmation that he still lived, Mariko faltered in her steps, the rhythm of her motions broken.

“Am I wrong, then?” Kenshin asked quietly.

Mariko stood taller. She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. To tell him all that lurked in her heart, all that spun through her mind. To freely share with her brother every thought, every fear, every dream, just as she had when they were children. But she could not. Not until she understood why he no longer trusted her. Why he’d not once thought to ask before passing judgment.

Why he’d failed to come to her aid and averted his gaze from her wordless pleas.

“You’re wrong,” Mariko said, her tone curt.

Kenshin glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think I mistook the emotion on your face when Takeda Ranmaru revealed his identity in Jukai forest.”

Laughter trilled from Mariko’s lips—an attempt to bring levity to the situation. “Now you are adept at reading emotion?” she teased. “I am glad for you, especially on behalf of Amaya.”

To her surprise, Kenshin flinched as though she’d struck him. “Do not speak her name to me ever again, Mariko.” His voice was low. Laden with feeling. Not at all the kind of response she had expected.

At a loss, Mariko said nothing.

They continued toward the central structure of Heian Castle, removing their sandals before entering the wooden hallways. Here, everywhere they stepped they were met with the shrill creaking of the drafty nightingale floors. But they did not walk in the direction of the emperor’s receiving room. Instead Kenshin led her down a side corridor, past a series of shuttered doors, toward a darkened expanse with a set of aging stairs cut into its center.

Thirty-seven paces.

Once they descended and Mariko peered down the dimly lit pathway, another layer of the castle came into view. It seemed as though this hidden structure had been constructed from the earth itself. A warren of tunnels branched into low-ceilinged rooms, upon which the seat of the imperial city rested. As the lore suggested, Heian Castle was indeed built in an odd fashion, with a sense of magic loitering in every shadow. It had been designed centuries ago by a famed mathematician, aided by the power of a reclusive enchantress.

But even knowing these things did not prepare Mariko for what she now beheld. Most fortresses she’d encountered in the past did not possess a mysterious structure beneath them. Reinforced on all sides by stone and immense timber beams, this place was meant for something secret. Perhaps even illicit. Seemingly crafted without design, it was impossible to determine where the passages began or ended.

In silence, the two siblings wove through this dank underbelly of the castle. Mariko shivered, the warmth of the sun lost in this underground lair.

When the light began to wane, Kenshin paused to reach for one of the torches anchored to the wall. Before they moved toward the second set of stairs—these carved from solid stone rather than timber—he turned to her.

“Show them nothing,” her brother said quietly.

Mariko did not know if he spoke to her or to himself. The wet smell wafting from below almost drew a shudder. As they descended, her eyes locked on her brother’s shoulders. On the unwrinkled expanse of his kosode and the comforting weight of the swords at his sides. Ever since they were children, Hattori Kenshin had always embodied the perfect ideal of a samurai.

In these creaking halls—taking in this poisonous air—Mariko wished that she, too, had the weight of a weapon at her side.

As the silence between them grew heavier, an onslaught of questions caught in her throat. Mariko wanted so much to confide in her twin. But the way Kenshin disdained her these last few days—the way he’d treated her like a thing beyond his consideration—remained in the forefront of her mind.

She thought he would at least