Flame in the Mist (Flame in the Mist #1)(63)

“Forgive the impudence, Your Highness, but I am struggling to understand why this information is of value to my search for Mariko.”

Another slow smile, sinister in its bent. “The leader of the Black Clan is Takeda Shingen’s son. And I believe they murdered your sister in revenge.”

Kenshin blanched in shock. “Revenge? Why would they wish revenge on my family?”

“Your misinterpretation is quite understandable. The son of Takeda Ranmaru wishes revenge on my family. Murdering your sister is only the beginning.”

“Mariko is not—”

“Of course. She is not dead.” Roku waved a dismissive hand, then faced the water once more. “But if she lives, I believe the Black Clan knows where she is. And I would urge you to be wary, Kenshin-sama, as it is clear—following the events of that night in Hanami—that a target has been painted on your back as well.”

Silence settled between them. Kenshin did not know what to believe anymore.

But he would most certainly find out the truth.

—

From a distance, the Emperor of Wa watched the crown prince speak with the Dragon of Kai. He saw the son of Hattori Kano frown repeatedly. Saw his back straighten with unmistakable purpose.

The web had been spun. Now the spider would wait for its prey to make a fatal mistake.

The emperor smiled to himself.

Roku would make a fine emperor indeed.

Beside him, Kanako toyed with the hundred-year-old carp swimming just beneath the surface of the water, angling for its next meal. She drew it closer, capturing its attention by catching rays of sunlight in the ring she always wore on her left hand. At first glance, the ring was nothing remarkable. Upon further study, a casual observer would note how the stone in its center appeared rather strange. The color within it looked and moved almost like liquid silver. But that was all a casual observer would ever see.

Because when anyone stared at the ring for too long, a cloud of pure white fell across his vision. The observer would need to blink hard. Shake his head.

And forget what he was even looking at in the first place.

Kanako ran her right hand over the ring. The prongs holding the stone in place lengthened. Melted from metal into something much more pliant. Then turned darker. The liquid silver stone formed a spherical body, rising from her finger and scuttling to her nail’s edge.

A silver spider—fashioned from the ensorcelled stone—descended from the tip of Kanako’s slender finger into the water, its silk a gold glint, refracting the sun’s warm rays. The carp remained below the surface, mesmerized, as the spider’s legs touched the carp’s lips.

Kanako closed her hand into a tight fist.

The spider disappeared.

She walked away.

When the emperor looked down, he saw the body of the motionless carp float beneath the bridge.

And vanish into the waters of the pond.





FOXGLOVE





The forest smelled of citrus and cedar. In that way of mist and rain.

A late spring shower had livened the air. Sweetening it. Blurring the lines while bringing all else into sharper focus. The rumble of low thunder. The rich green of the leaves. Mariko’s feet sloshing through a cool puddle.

It made her want to stick out her tongue and catch raindrops on its tip.

But a boy would never do that.

Would he?

Kenshin had never done that. At least not to her recollection.

Instead Mariko continued trudging along the narrow footpath cut beneath the jagged outcropping of cliffs. Ahead were the hot springs. If she finished her task early enough, perhaps she could sneak in another bath.

At Yoshi’s behest, Mariko had spent the last half hour collecting a certain kind of mushroom that sprang to life only when it rained. The cook had told her she would have the most success finding these particular mushrooms around the hot springs, and Mariko had happily left in the late afternoon to oblige. Only recently had she been freed from the constant companionship of her tormenter, Ren, and now was the perfect chance for her to revel in her newfound freedom.

As Mariko hunted through the underbrush—searching for a creamy white stalk and a smooth brown cap—another plant caught her attention from the cliff above. Tiny, vivid purple blossoms, suspended from their stems like bells.

Foxglove.

Mariko remembered her tutor mentioning it once.

The plant was poisonous. When prepared properly, a tea brewed from its petals could slow a person’s heart to the point of death.

Her lips pursing in contemplation, Mariko set down her basket of mushrooms and circled the base of the cliff. When she turned the corner and glanced up, she discovered a large gathering of deep purple blossoms, suspended right above the hot springs. The foxglove had apparently burst to life after the rain, many of them still mere buds awaiting their moment to open.

I should collect the flowers. Save them for when I might have an opportunity to use them.

Again Mariko recalled her tutor’s teachings. Foxglove had more than one purpose. She briefly recollected watching her tutor experiment with the stem and seeds of the plant. He’d reduced them to a paste. Then touched the paste with the end of a lighted stick. It had flashed hot and bright—causing Kenshin’s face to startle and Mariko’s eyes to widen—before burning white and disappearing in a smokeless flame.

That day, their tutor had warned Mariko and Kenshin about the many perils of foxglove.