Flame in the Mist (Flame in the Mist #1)(60)

“You take to water well,” ōkami commented. “It appears Akira-san was right.”

It never ceased to needle Mariko immeasurably. How this boy was able to frustrate her with so little effort. “For the last time, I am not water.”

“My god, you are stubborn.”

“Another reason I cannot possibly be water.” Though there was heat to her words, she kept her voice even. “Water is temperamental. It doesn’t assume any shape on its own. It takes the shape of whatever is around it. And I have never wished to be controlled by my surroundings.”

“And yet you are, all the same.”

She splashed water at him.

His smile was thoughtful. “Water is not beholden to anything. It can cut through rock. It can vanish into thin air. With time, it can even destroy iron. You should not see it as a weakness.”

“If I am water, then what are you?”

“My father always said I was fire.”

This observation surprised her. ōkami had always struck her as unnervingly cool-tempered. Save for the incident outside the teahouse, Mariko had found him to be almost mild-mannered. At times even cold. Then she remembered Ranmaru’s tale by the jubokko. ōkami had burned the tent of his father’s accuser.

Mariko found she wished to know more. “You say you are fire as though you don’t believe it to be true.”

“I believe we are all things, depending on the situation. Given the right time and the right circumstance, any man or woman can be water or fire or earth or wind.”

“You deny the truth of our inclinations.”

“No. I deny being a slave to any one thing. In any situation we can choose who we are and choose who we want to be.”

“That’s . . . true,” Mariko admitted.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not an absolute fool.”

“I never thought you were a fool. I’ve thought you were lazy. Perhaps even ridiculous at times. But never a fool.”

“A lie. You never truly thought I was ridiculous. That’s why it bothered you so.”

Briefly Mariko recalled the night they’d first met. “No. I actually did think you were ridiculous once. That’s what bothered me so.”

“More honesty. I like you much more when you’re honest, Sanada Takeo.”

“But you don’t mind me when I lie?”

ōkami leaned back against a stone, his smile perfectly indolent. “Perhaps. As long as you’re not lying to me.”

Mariko wanted to splash him again. Wanted to best him in all ways. Wanted to kiss him silent.

The last thought startled her.

Where had it come from? It was so utterly illogical. So fiercely wrong. She’d never wished to kiss anyone before. Never wished to worry any boy’s lower lip between her teeth before.

To worry it until his words melted on her tongue.

ōkami studied her, as though he could sense the tumult of her thoughts. And wished to take advantage of it. “Did you truly know who those men were when they first arrived?”

The question caught her off guard. “Of course I did.”

“Liar. You climbed onto the rooftop before they arrived at the teahouse. Why?”

Mariko had suspected he’d known she was there all along. “I thought I saw imperial soldiers when I left to relieve myself. So I climbed onto the rooftop to confirm who they were.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you were spying on me. And I want to know why.”

A wave of shock descended on her. Mariko had not expected him to ask that question quite so bluntly. “If I were spying on you, why would I reveal myself in an effort to spare you?” She pressed her back into the smooth rock along the edge of the hot spring as she considered how best to redirect the tenor of this conversation in her favor. “Did you know who all the men were as soon as you saw them?” Mariko filled her voice with accusation. “I didn’t recognize one of them.”

“I recognized Minamoto Raiden. It took only a moment’s work to realize the scrawny little brat at his back was the crown prince. The remaining boy in their company took me a bit more time.” He shot her a bladed smile. “Your attempt to redirect this conversation was rather clever, by the way.”

Never mind that. Here was a chance for Mariko to learn something of value. Something about her family. “Who was the last boy?”

The angles in ōkami’s face hollowed into slashes. “The Dragon of Kai. Strange how he did not seem nearly as fearsome in person.”

“Who?” Mariko was proud that she did not stammer. Nor did she even blink.

“Another lie. Why are you lying about what you already know?”

“I truly don’t know who the Dragon of Kai is.”

ōkami paused. “He’s the son of a power-hungry idiot.”

Mariko stiffened. “In that sense, you could be speaking about anyone.”

“No. Hattori Kano would sell his own soul if it meant currying favor. And he breeds the same kind of idiocy in those around him. Though I will say his son can wield a sword with a passable amount of skill.”

Mariko could no longer listen to him speak ill of her family. So she borrowed his own tactic. “What did you say to Yumi that made her cry?”

Two could play at this game of drawing out a reaction.