Flame in the Mist (Flame in the Mist #1)(82)

He would never forget the look of disgust on Amaya’s face before she went inside the granary to finish what Kenshin should have started from the beginning.

The last look they’d ever shared.

Before he gutted each of the men in the Black Clan, he would burn them first.

Then, at least for an instant, they would understand his pain.

—

Yumi floated across the tatami mat, a tray of food balanced in her hands. The way she walked reminded Mariko of a swan gliding across a pond, neck straight and silken feathers impeccable.

“I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself,” Mariko said.

“I have no intention of feeding you,” the maiko replied, her features almost prim in their mockery. “I’m not your servant. I’m merely here to help, as your hands are not yet healed.”

“I promise I’ll continue taking care of them. May I please leave?”

“You may not. I promised ōkami I would watch over you. If you’re one to make promises, you’re one to understand their value.”

“I understand nothing.” Mariko attempted to cross her arms, but the bulky bindings around her hands prevented her. “And I need the help of no one.”

“I see.” The beautiful girl’s tone was not condescending. Though Mariko knew she deserved to be patronized for being so petulant.

Mariko sighed in defeat. “I thought I possessed all the answers. Or at least most of them. Now I know I understand nothing.”

“That knowledge is key to understanding the world, don’t you think?” Yumi said as she knelt beside Mariko and handed her a bowl of steaming rice.

Mariko nudged the handle of her spoon with a bound fingertip. “Are you ever angry you were born a woman?”

Yumi sat back on her heels and studied Mariko for a spell. “I’ve never been angry to have been born a woman. There have been times I’ve been angry at how the world treats us, but I see being a woman as a challenge I must fight. Like being born under a stormy sky. Some people are lucky enough to be born on a bright summer’s day. Maybe we were born under clouds. No wind. No rain. Just a mountain of clouds we must climb each morning so that we may see the sun.”

As she let Yumi’s words sink beneath her skin, Mariko’s eyes drifted across the maiko’s perfect face. Across her beautifully sloe-shaped eyes. Her pointed chin and broad lips. Then Mariko’s gaze wandered around Yumi’s chamber. To the elegantly displayed kimono. To the ivory pot filled with a powder made of crushed pearls. To the pigments prepared from safflower rouge for the lips and cheeks. To the paulownia wood used for the eyebrows. Cosmetics and silks to both mask and enhance a woman’s features.

Mariko supposed it was possible all women and men were forced to wear their own kind of masks.

“But how can you say you’re not angry?” she asked quietly. “Your brother left you here because there was no other place you would be safe alone. No other place for a young woman to live alone, save a geiko teahouse in Hanami.”

“My brother brought me here because he was too much of a coward to care for me himself,” Yumi said curtly. “It had nothing to do with me being a girl.”

Though she was surprised to hear Yumi call ōkami a coward, Mariko could not help but agree on this score. “We are given less,” she continued arguing her point. “We are treated as less. And whenever we make a mistake, it is weighed so much greater.”

“The only great mistakes are the mistakes that remain ignored.”

Mariko sniffed. “I’m tired of being treated this way.”

“Have you felt as though you are incapable of fighting back?”

“For most of my life I have not fought back.”

Yumi laughed, and the sound brought to mind a set of wind chimes. “ōkami warned me you were quite a liar. I see what he meant.”

“Why do you believe me to be lying?”

“Because, Hattori Mariko, you are not one to conform to any man’s expectations. Is that not—in a way—a manner of fighting back?” She smiled. “Believe me when I tell you I would not want to sleep with my feet pointed in your direction.”

“Believe me when I say you would be alone in thinking that.” Mariko frowned.

Yumi inclined her head, her expression thoughtful. “There is such strength in being a woman. But it is a strength you must choose for yourself. No one can choose it for you. We can bend the wind to our ear if we would only try.” She leaned closer. “Are you not the one who invented a weapon of exploding fire? Did you not bend the will of countless men with nothing but the fruits of your mind?”

“I can bend nothing. I can’t even make your brother listen to me. Your entire family is exasperating.” Again Mariko tried to cross her arms. Again she was thwarted. “Don’t act as though being inscrutable makes you anything more than irritating.”

Yumi laughed again, softly and lyrically. A knock resounded at the sliding door to her chamber. The maiko stood to answer it, returning with a sealed piece of parchment. While Yumi read it, the edges of her lips became downturned. Her eyes started to narrow.

Without a word, the maiko burned the letter.

“What is it?” Mariko asked.

Yumi hedged. Bit her lip.

Mariko set aside her bowl of uneaten rice. “You know something, don’t you?”