Flame in the Mist (Flame in the Mist #1)(8)

Without thought, Mariko snatched the tortoiseshell bar from her hair—

And stabbed it through his left eye.

The ornament pierced through its center, a needle through a grape.

His scream was slow. Tortured.

With its sound came a sudden rush of clarity. It blossomed in Mariko’s chest, spreading like a swallow of perfectly brewed tea.

Simple. Instinctual.

She took hold of the wakizashi and slashed the man’s throat from ear to ear.

His scream was swallowed by gurgles. Crimson bubbles sloshed past his lips as he tried to form his final words. After a few moments, he fell silent. Motionless, save for the blood dripping from his eye and throat.

Mariko crawled away, heaving the contents of her stomach into the underbrush.

—

Hattori Mariko crouched against the rough trunk of an ancient pine tree. Her body rocked slowly in place. She watched her white tabi socks dampen in the misted moss. The brambles around her had become a refuge, the lichen at her sides a cloak. Soughing pines swayed above her head. Their echoing moans brought to mind the disquiet of lost souls. The many lost souls that had met their doom in the shadow of Jukai forest.

Less than a stone’s throw from her lay one of these lost souls.

Thank the stars I am not among them.

Not yet, anyway.

Mariko wrapped her arms about her legs. As though she could hold herself together.

The forest may not yet have claimed her for its own, but it was clear she was horribly lost. Beyond all comprehension. In a wooden maze filled with creatures—both human and inhuman—that could kill her with only the wish to do so. The darkness that had recently become her refuge would also likely bring about her ruin. Its pressing menace reminded her of the time ten years past when Kenshin had challenged her to dive with him beneath the surface of the lake at the edge of their family’s land. It had been the afternoon following a summer storm. The water was a muddy color, the silt at its floor a constant swirl.

Though she typically eschewed such mindless challenges, Mariko had always been an excellent swimmer. And Kenshin had been particularly self-important that day. Had been especially in need of a lesson. So she’d dived for the bottom, her hands spreading through the murky water with assertive strokes. As she’d clawed toward her goal, a branch of twisted leaves had brushed her cheek, disorienting her. In that instant, she’d lost her bearings. Mariko could no longer tell which way to swim. Could no longer make out a path in either direction. She’d taken in mouthful after mouthful of water as the terror had frayed away her confidence. Had rubbed its edges raw until it all but fell apart.

Were it not for the pull of Kenshin’s steady hands, Mariko could have perished that day.

It felt like that here. In this darkness thick with threat. In this forest, harboring in its folds the nightmares of millennia.

A hooting owl broke through the quiet as it swooped lower. As it prowled for its evening meal. Glancing to her left, Mariko caught sight of a spiderweb in a bend of branches nearby. Dewdrops clung to its silken strands. She focused on the way they welled. Collected. Slid down and across the twinkling silk to pool at its center.

Before she could blink an eye, the water splashed from the web in a cascade of diamonds. Its maker had returned, eight long legs stretching across its surface.

Lying in wait for its prey.

Mariko wanted to run from her skin. Be anything, be anywhere but where she was.

A brush of wind raked through the thorny brambles around her. Its breeze coiled beneath her hair, lifting the unbound strands. They caught in the stickiness on her cheeks. The salty wetness left there by trails of tears.

She needed to find her way home. Back to her family. Back to where she supposedly belonged.

But Mariko could not silence the thrum of her thoughts.

Could not squelch her curiosity.

She wanted—no, needed—to find out why the Black Clan had been sent to kill her.

Who wished her dead? And why?

She inhaled carefully. Gripping her knees as they pressed into her chest, Mariko forced herself to stop swaying.

And start thinking.

What would Kenshin do?

The answer to that was simple. Her older brother would stop at nothing to learn who had tried to kill him. Who had robbed his family and nearly brought an end to his life. Kenshin wouldn’t rest until he brought the heads of his enemies home in sacks stained red with their blood.

But her brother was allowed such discretion. Such freedom to choose. After all, he had not earned the name the Dragon of Kai by remaining safe within the walls of their family’s home.

He’d earned it on the field of battle. With every swing of his sword.

If Mariko returned home, her family would promptly dry her tears and send her back on her way. Back down this same path. Any word of the events that had transpired in Jukai forest would be guarded to the death. If the emperor or the prince or any member of the nobility learned that Mariko had been attacked on her journey to Inako, the royal family might cancel their marriage arrangement. Might claim this misfortune was a bad omen. One that could not be risked on royal blood.

Never mind the cold question that would undoubtedly follow. The whispers that would trail at her back.

The question of Mariko’s virtue. Lost in the forest, alone with murderers and thieves. A question that would linger, despite her family’s heartfelt protests.

Mariko pressed her lips to one side.