Not wanting the magic to end.
It had been the last time she’d felt as though all would be well. As though hope were a sunrise, burning brightly along her horizon.
If her family would let her be.
If Mariko could have stayed there, free to blaze her own path in life.
If Ōkami would be by her side. Always.
If.
If.
Understanding flared within her, like a moon emerging from behind a bank of clouds. This must have been what Ōkami dreamed of. The same thing that kept him from chasing after his birthright. The need to be at peace, surrounded by those he trusted.
Safe.
When was the last time Mariko had felt safe before that night?
I can’t remember.
“After I lost my mother to the sea, I spent a great deal of time with Tsuneoki’s family,” Ōkami began in a calm voice. “My father’s position often took him away from our province, so it was better for me to remain among friends. Better for us all. When we were small, I would often find myself fighting to defend Tsuneoki. Even though he is taller than I am now, he was small for most of our childhood and a bit odd, not unlike you.” He smiled to himself. “One day during the winter of our fifth year, I slipped and fell while chasing after a boy who’d been trounced by Tsuneoki in a game of Go. The boy had taken his loss out on Tsuneoki’s face, which was unfortunate, since Tsuneoki’s appearance has always been his only asset.” His grin widened, and Mariko found herself smiling with him, despite all.
Ōkami continued. “When I fell, I landed in a patch of melting snow. It splashed everywhere, and my nursemaid had to drag me indoors before I became sick from the cold. The boy and his friends laughed like it was all a great joke. Later that night, Yoshi found me crying outside. It was one of the last times I remember crying. When I tried to hide it—because I’d been taught that a young man, especially the son of a fearsome shōgun, did not cry—he said, ‘Little lord, don’t stop yourself from feeling. That is what it means to truly live.’” Ōkami fell silent, lost in remembrance, his eyes hinting at something deeper. Richer. Truer.
“That … sounds like something Yoshi would say,” Mariko said as she wiped the tears from her chin.
Ōkami laughed. “It’s very irritating, isn’t it? He was always so irritating.”
The sound of his amusement lessened the grip around her heart. “Irritating in that perfectly Yoshi way.” She chewed at her cheek. “Did he suffer?”
“A little. But I stayed with him until it was over.”
“That must have been difficult to watch. It was kind of you to do that.”
He laughed again, the sound strained. “Uncharacteristically unselfish, no?”
Mariko frowned. “You are many things, some of them quite troubling. But I think you pretend to be selfish and unkind so no one expects better of you. In truth, I think you are extraordinarily kind at heart. And loyal to a fault.”
At her words, a shadow fell across his features. “Then we really do need to get to know each other better,” Ōkami said. “On that score, I feel congratulations are in order.” Something glinted in his gaze, like the edge of a blade being sharpened on a whetstone. “It appears your betrothed is well on his way to falling hopelessly in love with you. Well done on that account.”
It took Mariko a breath to see the truth beneath his words. “Are you jealous?”
A pause. “Only a fool would not be.”
“That’s ridiculous. Jealousy is for boorish people. Are you a boor?”
“Of course I am. And of course I would be jealous. That steaming heap of refuse doesn’t have to sleep in a barred cell. He can gaze at the moonlight whenever he wishes,” he muttered.
“It’s a shame the moon has eyes for another.” With a secretive smile, Mariko used the chopstick to pry away a final piece of hardened wax. She lifted the makeshift key into the light to check it a final time before placing it into the lock. As it engaged the tumblers, she turned it gently. Something began to shift inside, the metal components creaking, giving way.
It’s going to work.
The next instant, bits of wax fell apart around her hands as the metal from the tortoiseshell pin twisted free. Mariko sat there, allowing herself to go numb, the last traces of joy fading from her chest like a flame sputtering in the darkness. Her shoulders sagged forward, the despair gripping her stomach from the inside.
“It was a good idea,” Ōkami said gently. “For a useless girl.”
With a muffled shout, Mariko grabbed the broken pieces of wax and threw them past the bars, toward his head. She sat back on her heels, her body wilting from defeat. They both waited until her frustration began to fade. Then Ōkami’s features turned serious. He shifted forward, his chains scraping along the stone. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For defying all the odds to try to rescue a selfish thief who lied to you at every turn. You are the least useless warrior I’ve ever met, Lady Manko. Never forget that.”
The hairs on her neck stood on end.
He’s trying to say good-bye.
Mariko refused to allow it. “This is far from over, Lord Ranmaru.” Her eyes darted around, as though she could find an answer in the chilly darkness. “What is stopping you from turning into smoke and disappearing? Is it me? Are you so worried about my safety that you would continue subjecting yourself to this barbarism?”
Ōkami frowned. “No. The light of the moon needs to touch my skin in order for the magic to work.” He inhaled, as though he wished to steel himself for the next admission. “The demon I serve is cleaved from darkness. In order to wield its power, I had to swear several oaths, the first being that I cannot call upon it if I am beyond the light of the moon. If I even attempt it, I might lose control entirely.”
“What?” Fear caused Mariko’s voice to splinter. “What other oaths did you swear to a demon of darkness? Why would you do such a thing?”
“I was a boy of ten when it happened.” Ōkami’s expression turned somber. “And you’ve known what I am since the night we first met—self-serving at every turn. The sort of boy who risks his well-being in order to wield dark power. Who permits his best friend to assume his identity and all the perils that come with it.” He shuttered his gaze. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with me anymore, Mariko. It’s a mistake.”
Anger ignited in her chest. “If you didn’t want me concerning myself with you, perhaps you should have considered that before—”
“I did not mean you made a mistake in caring about me. I meant that you have far more pressing concerns.” Ōkami took in another deep breath. “Today the emperor informed me that your marriage to his clod of a brother will take place in the coming days.” His words became clipped as he spoke, as though he were trying to marshal his fury. And failing miserably.
Mariko blinked, her mouth hanging ajar. “So soon.” She shook off the sense of foreboding that began sinking its claws into her. “I don’t think Raiden is of the same mind.” Her voice turned resolute. “He barely spent a moment in my company on the journey here, and it’s clear he only tolerates my presence as a courtesy.”
“It doesn’t matter. Pushing your marriage forward is a way to test your loyalty and drive me to ruin, all at once.” Ōkami kept still. “Though I believe Roku remains uncertain of our connection, I fear he will soon realize the truth.” His laughter was cold, its echo hollow. “Our deepest truths are usually the hardest to conceal.”
Though it was inopportune and inappropriate, that same mixture of pleasure and pain gripped Mariko again, as though a balm had been applied to a wound. It burned and soothed all at once. She leaned her forehead against the cold iron bars without thinking. Simply wishing she could be closer to him.
Perhaps this was what it meant to feel love. To be together and apart in the same instant.
Be water.
Mariko nodded as though a spirit had whispered to her through the seeping stone walls. “You once told me I was water,” she said to Ōkami. “It is something I think about a great deal when I’m left alone with my thoughts. Water shifts and flows with its surroundings, but I’ve realized something else. Still waters turn foul over time. Even if I am uncertain of the destination, I must keep moving. You must keep moving, before you rot from the inside out. Do not give up.”