Flame in the Mist (Flame in the Mist #1)(83)

“I know many things I am never supposed to tell you.” It was a leading kind of statement. The sort Mariko knew better than to ignore.

She leaned forward. “Tell me anyway, Asano Yumi. And at least for one day, we can climb the mountain together.”

Yumi’s smile was pointed. “My loyalty is not to you, Hattori Mariko.”

“Then to whom do you owe it?”

“To my brother and his lord, Takeda Ranmaru.”

“So why are you even mentioning any of this to me?” Mariko pressed.

“My brother will not return to the city for some time. But I need to get ōkami a message.”

“What is it?”

“Hattori Kenshin is marching on the western edge of Jukai forest.” She paused. “In an attempt to rescue his sister.”

“Why now of all times?” Mariko cried, throwing back the embroidered coverlet. “The rumors of the Black Clan being responsible for my supposed death have existed for months!”

“I cannot tell you why he is marching on them now. But word must be sent to my brother.”

“How did you normally reach him?”

“ōkami comes here often. Unfortunately I was never told how to find their camp. My brother thought it was far too dangerous for me to know. It was something someone could hurt me in an effort to learn.” Yumi sidled closer, tucking her pale green kimono neatly beneath her knees. “Are you certain you could not find their camp if you searched for it?”

“I have no idea how to find it.”

Yumi’s voice dropped in sudden urgency. “Do you think you could try? You owe them that, at least.”

A part of Mariko agreed. She did owe the Black Clan something. As much as they owed her an explanation. If they weren’t responsible for attacking her convoy and trying to kill her, then who was? Who had tried to impersonate them that ill-fated night in the forest? “I can try. Do you”—she swallowed—“really think ōkami revealed my identity to the Black Clan?”

“I have never heard the Honshō Wolf make idle threats.”

Mariko inhaled slowly.

“They might not look kindly on you when you return,” Yumi warned. “They’ve slit the throats of other men for less.”

With a careful nod, Mariko made a decision. “Will you help me with something?”

“As long as it harms no one, then yes. What is it?”

Mariko wobbled to her feet and began unraveling the bandages on one hand. “If I am marching to my death, then I will march to it as a girl. Without fear.”





THE SHADOW WARRIOR





Mariko was not afraid anymore.

As her time with the Black Clan had taught her, avoiding fear made her weak. Embracing it made her strong.

True weakness is weakness of the spirit.

Mariko had lived a life of wealth and privilege. A life spent blissfully unaware of the suffering around her. A life she herself had never fully appreciated. Her mother did not give without expecting something in return. Her father only ever took.

And Kenshin?

Kenshin gave to others from a sense of honor and responsibility. But his honor and responsibility had failed him that night. Mariko had watched him torture Ren. Had seen the aftermath of his attempts to find her in Jukai forest. The bloodied bodies of innocent young men and women. Of an old man much beloved by many.

Only a few days ago, Mariko had been the reason such chaos had unraveled before her very eyes. Her invention had wrought havoc on her people. Undoubtedly hurt some of them. And she did not yet know what had happened to all the members of the Black Clan.

Her . . . friends?

Yes. If they were no longer her enemies, perhaps Mariko could one day consider them her friends. Certainly Yoshi. He’d only ever been kind to her. Offered her guidance and delicious food. Laughter in moments when she desperately needed it. And Ranmaru had been a strange source of reassurance for Mariko. This boy with an almost mysterious air to him, who nevertheless came across as approachable and direct in all of his dealings. Even Ren—her erstwhile tormentor—well, on second thought, Mariko supposed he could never be a friend. Not unless she could catch him unawares with a few strategic strikes of her own.

And ōkami? No. They could never really be friends.

Mariko wasn’t sure she wanted to be the Wolf’s friend anyway. Could she ever be friends with a boy after dreaming of the way his calloused hands felt on her bare skin? Of the way his scarred lips felt pressed against her own?

She supposed not.

Mariko had never had friends before. Real friends. Ones who were not threatened by her family or by her strangeness. Her strange desire to learn about anything and everything.

Not until Mariko had first gone to the forest dressed as a boy did she ever realize how small her world had been. What it meant to be truly challenged. What it meant to be truly happy, in a world where no one questioned her place.

The Black Clan might reject her.

They might kill her.

ōkami had said he would tell them. He’d said he no longer felt any obligation to keep her secret. Not when she’d betrayed them as she had, by helping her brother.

Their enemy.

Mariko stopped in the clearing where Akira-san had perished. Where Kenshin had lost his way. The burned lean-to was still standing. She looked to the trees. Studied the jagged silhouette of the mountain in the distance.