They watched until the sea turtle swam off. Legs aching, she stood and they crossed the rocks to the opposite side, where much larger waves smashed against the stony barrier, the misty spray cooling their skin.
“Look at the size of the waves.” She pointed farther along the shoreline, well beyond their little cove, where monster waves beat against a sheer cliff. “I wouldn’t want to swim there.”
“Susano would probably like it. Dragons do well in water.”
She gave him an arch look. “If ravens like ocean winds and dragons like ocean waves, what do nine-tailed foxes like?”
“Hmm. Well, I’ve always wanted to see a volcano.”
“A volcano?”
“An erupting one.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “If I have seen one, I don’t remember yet.”
“Well, I suppose burning to death isn’t a concern for you.”
“No, but—”
He broke off and grabbed her. A huge breaking wave crashed into the rock and water exploded everywhere, shoving Shiro forward a step. The wave subsided and he released her, shaking his arms and sending droplets flying. His hair was plastered to his face, his clothing drenched. Sheltered by his body, she’d barely been splashed.
She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle. “Maybe we should go back to the beach.”
He grumbled most of the way back to the sand. Once they reached their blanket, he untied the wraps around his arms and slid them off. A blush had scarcely tinged her cheeks when he tugged his kosode up, untucking it from his hakama, and stripped off the dripping fabric. He threw the garments over the hot boulders nearby.
She surreptitiously watched him, adjusting her hat to hide her stare. He dropped onto the blanket and leaned back. She decided not to complain that his hakama would soak their only blanket, just in case he decided to remove the rest of his clothing. Heat throbbed in her cheeks as she tried hard not to gawk at his masculine perfection. Shouldn’t she have developed a degree of desensitization by this point?
Leaving him to bake dry in the sun, she returned to the water’s edge. Lifting her skirt to her knees, she waded through the shallow waves, delighting in the water’s cool caress. The worries of what awaited her, the fear and dread of the solstice, seemed a thousand miles away. She couldn’t even feel sorrow that this was her last day in the sun. She relished every beautiful moment, etching them into her soul so she could take them with her into the next life.
As the afternoon sun slipped a little lower in the sky, she wandered back to the blanket, her hands full of seashells she’d uncovered in the sand. She found Shiro lying on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed, and ears slanted back lazily. Depositing her treasures in their bag, she sat beside him, intending to keep her attention on the stunning vista before her. Before long, though, her gaze slid toward him, tracing the shape of his back, the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, the subtler landscape of muscle.
Her fingers twitched, yearning to touch him, to feel the smooth warmth of his skin.
She lay back beside him, her face to the sun and the breeze teasing her hair. Had she ever felt this relaxed in her life? Shiro’s presence brought her such peace. How could he be a threat to her inner harmony when his nearness was a balm to all her fears? How could being with him be wrong when she felt so strong, so fearless, so complete at his side?
Watching him, his chin tucked in the crook of his arm, his expression relaxed and on the edge of sleep, her heart overflowed and drowned her in emotion. She loved him. She was in love with him and madly, irreversibly desperate for him. Why was it wrong to touch him?
Ignoring the warning in her head, she shifted onto her side so she was facing him, her head cushioned on her arm. With her other hand, she touched his shoulder.
His eyelids flickered open, then closed again. “Mm?”
She slid her fingers down his bicep, then back up and across the base of his neck. His ear flicked toward her but he otherwise didn’t move. Slowly, she let her fingertips glide back across his shoulder, longing to run her hands over him, to explore more of his skin.
“Thank you, Shiro,” she whispered. “You can’t imagine what this means to me.”
He cracked his eyes open. “I wish I could do more.”
She blinked away tears. She would not cry today. She would not darken this bright day with sorrow.
He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms over his head. “What do you want to do now?”
“Hmm.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. She could easily spend the entire day—or an entire year—just sitting on the beach, watching the waves. The water was a touch too cold for swimming, but the sand was delightfully hot. “Let’s build a sand castle.”
“A sand castle?”
Laughing at his dubious tone, she hopped up and waved at him to come with her. At the edge of the water, where dry beach transitioned to surf, she heaped damp sand into a pile. Shiro sat beside her, watching and occasionally attempting to help with unimpressive results. They worked at it until an especially large wave swept in and washed away their efforts. Abandoning their attempt, they wandered up and down the beach, fingers entwined, as the breeze quieted and clouds sluggishly gathered overhead.
Too soon, far too soon, the sinking sun neared the endless horizon. Sitting beside him on the sand at the water’s edge, watching the sky blaze with orange light, she didn’t know how time had passed so quickly. Where had the day gone? She didn’t want it to end. She wanted to stay here with him, just like this, forever. An eternity wouldn’t have been long enough.
Amber light streaked the skyline and washed over the clouds, staining them a thousand shades of gold and scarlet. She leaned her head on his shoulder and tucked herself against his side. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He’d donned his sleeveless kosode but left it hanging open. His shoulder was warm under her cheek, a welcome heat as the breeze cooled.
The sun dipped lower until it was touching the horizon, and the ocean deepened from cobalt to midnight blue, the islands beyond the cove now dark silhouettes. With only the tops of the gentle waves painted orange and the rest of the water nearly black, a glowing blue light appeared a dozen yards from the shore.
She stiffened in surprise. “What—”
Before she could finish her question, dozens more lights materialized, bobbing gracefully along the waves.
“Ayakashi,” Shiro murmured. “Water sprites. They’re only ever seen at sunset.”
She gasped in recognition, remembering the handful of tiny yokai that Katsuo had shown her at the Shirayuri Shrine weeks ago. More lights appeared until over a hundred glowing sprites flitted above the water like fireflies, twirling and spiraling amongst one another as the sun burned on the horizon behind them.
Emi pressed against his side, breathless with wonder as the ayakashi danced on the waves. With a final, glorious blaze of vibrant amber, the sun slipped out of sight. The last of its orange rays still stained the dark horizon as the ayakashi blinked out one by one, disappearing just like the sun.
Finally, only a single sprite remained. It bobbed above the water, then glided toward the beach and stopped a few feet away from them. Hovering at face height, it flickered oddly, then dipped a few inches before rising again.
Shiro nodded in return, a silent greeting.
The ayakashi flickered again, then darted in three bobbing circles around his head. In a flash of blue light, it sped back to the water and was gone.
“What was that about?” she asked as darkness settled over the ocean.
“I guess they recognized me.” He canted his head thoughtfully. “By my best guess, it was a welcome of sorts. A ‘welcome back,’ perhaps?”
“Welcome back,” she repeated almost soundlessly, remembering Uzume saying the same thing to him. She had to work some moisture into her mouth before she could swallow. “Shiro, should I … should I start calling you Inari now?”
He turned his head toward her, but in the near-complet
e darkness, she couldn’t make out his features. He lifted his hand and a tiny kitsunebi sparked to life above his palm. The swirling red and blue fire lit his face with shifting shadows, but his expression remained a mystery.
“Would you prefer to?” he asked softly.
“I …” She glanced away, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Look at me, little miko.”
She forced her eyes back to his.
“When you look at me,” he asked, “who do you see?”
“I don’t …” She bit her lip. “I don’t know. I just see … you.”
“Exactly. I am who I am. The name you call me doesn’t matter.”
“But sometimes …” She hesitated. “Sometimes you’re so different. Sometimes you’re …”
“I am who I am,” he repeated. He brushed his fingers down her arm. “Emi, when you’re being the kamigakari, you’re different too.”
“I am?”
“The kamigakari wouldn’t twirl in her dress until she was too dizzy to stand straight, would she?” He grinned briefly before sobering. “What your role demands of you, you fulfill, and that is a part of who you are too.”
She studied him as she processed his words. When Inari took Shiro’s place, was she seeing a different persona? Or was she seeing a different role—a Kunitsukami, a powerful leader? Was his Kunitsukami role no different from her kamigakari role?
“But Uzume said you were completely different from the Inari she knew …”
He slanted his face toward the dark sky where the first few stars had appeared among the invisible clouds. “Maybe, before the onenju, I never had the chance to discover who I was without the mantle of a Kunitsukami. I never learned who I could be.” A hollow sadness flickered deep in his eyes, and his voice softened until it blended with the waves. “I don’t have to wear that mantle for you.”
She couldn’t quite seem to breathe as he stared upward.
“I would forget everything else,” he murmured, “as long as I didn’t forget who I am with you. This is who I want to be.”
“Shiro …”
His eyes turned to hers, sorrow and longing twining in their depths. “I don’t want to lose this. You are my fire, Emi. You are my warmth. Before you, the flames within me were cold as ice.”
Despite her promise to herself, tears spilled over her cheeks. “Shiro …” She raised her hand, fingers trembling ever so slightly, and touched his cheek. “I wish … I wish I could …”
He brushed his fingertips across her lips, silencing her, and she knew why. Wishing for something different, sharing her hopeless desires that could never be fulfilled, would only bring them pain.
She pressed her hand against his cheek. His fingers slid from her lips to her chin, tilting her face up as he leaned down. His mouth closed over hers—but almost immediately, he pulled back. His touch slipped away and he turned his head, leaving her hand hanging in the air, her palm cold.
“Shiro …” she whispered, pain spearing her.
“I’m sorry.” He kept his gaze fixed on the unseen ocean. “Your makoto no kokoro is too important to risk. If you die on the solstice …”
“I …” She wanted to tell him it didn’t matter. She wanted to tell him she didn’t care. But she couldn’t, not when so much was riding on Amaterasu’s successful descension tomorrow night. Anguished longing ached in every particle of her body. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have …”
He rose to his feet and extended his hand to her. “Yumei will be waiting for us.”
She took his hand and let him draw her to her feet. He turned, the light from his kitsunebi flickering over him, and stepped away from her, heading toward their bag and other belongings.
“Shiro.”
He stopped and glanced back at her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he turned back and swept her into his arms, holding her tight, his face buried in her hair. She clutched him with all her strength as though she could fuse them together so they would never have to be apart.
His arms loosened before she was ready, leaving her no choice but to step back. In no time at all, they had collected their things. And then they were leaving the beach and walking into the forest, where Yumei would be waiting at the portal to return them to the winter-locked shrine.
She had wished this day would never end, but more than anything, she wished she could erase the veiled pain in his eyes, the growing shadow of loneliness that awaited him once she was gone. She wished she could forever banish the cold flames that threatened to seal his heart in ice again.
Chapter 23
When Emi opened the door to her suite, she was only mildly surprised to find Nanako waiting for her. She was more surprised, however, to see Nanako wearing a soft yellow kimono instead of her usual uniform. Her hair was piled on top of her head, held in place with a purple hair clip.
“Finally!” the miko exclaimed, swooping down on her. “I knew he would make you late. Hurry up, come on!”
“Come on where?” Emi asked tiredly.
“You need to get cleaned up. Dinner is in thirty minutes.”
“Dinner?” She glanced longingly at her bed. “Can’t I eat in my room?”
Nanako took the oversized bag of beach-day supplies and set it aside. “Did you enjoy your afternoon?”
Emi struggled to corral her wandering thoughts. Returning to the cold, snow-laden forest had felt like waking from a beautiful dream. Leaving Shiro standing at the edge of the shrine grounds had hurt more than it should have.
But her day had been brilliant, breathtaking, and full of beauty and wonder. It had been the best day of her life. Straightening her shoulders, she smiled broadly as the tranquility of the sunny ocean cove spread through her like the sun’s heat, chasing away her sorrow.
“It was amazing, Nanako. The most beautiful beach you’ve ever seen! The water was so clear and we even saw a sea turtle.”
Reenergized, she quickly washed up and brushed out her hair. Nanako bustled into the bathroom with a fine lilac kimono and helped her dress. Using a few decorative combs, she wound Emi’s long hair into a simple updo and pinned it in place.
“I’m afraid that’s all we have time for. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Emi asked, following Nanako out into the corridor. “I don’t think I can handle any more surprises, honestly.”
Nanako paused, then looked back at her. “Do you know your schedule tomorrow?”
Emi frowned. “Yes. The Fire Blessing ritual in the morning, the purification ceremony immediately afterward, then the procession through the grounds at noon.”
“And then you spend the rest of the day in the shrine, meditating and preparing yourself until the night of the solstice.”
Emi nodded, her brow still furrowed.
Nanako’s expression softened. “You won’t have time for goodbyes tomorrow.”
Her words struck Emi like a blow. She’d been so determined to ignore the nearness of the solstice that she hadn’t realized her kamigakari duties would consume her final day. Nanako slipped a comforting arm around Emi’s shoulders and guided her into motion.
“This isn’t a farewell dinner,” she said, steering Emi around a corner. “But it is a celebration—for you.”
At the end of the corridor, the doors to the largest room in the hall were closed, but the murmur of voices and the delicious aroma of food leaked through. With an encouraging squeeze, Nanako dropped her arm from Emi’s shoulders, stepped up to the doors, and slid them open.
Light and sound rolled out of the room like a welcoming wave as the occupants turned.
Ishida, stern and authoritative, stood beside Fujimoto, whose kannushi hat was crooked on his head. Tamaki and several other miko who had been part of Emi’s training since her first day at Shion were also nearby. Katsuo, grinning widely, sat at the long banquet table with Minoru beside him.
But the yokai in th
e room far outnumbered the humans. Sarutahiko, Uzume, and Susano wore the fine, elegant garb they’d arrived in. Yumei, along with three of his daitengu, Byakko and his fellow Shijin, and half a dozen other Kunitsukami vassals filled the rest of the room.
Ishida reached her first and escorted her around the table to the spot of honor in the middle across from the door. She sank onto a cushion, still stunned. Before she could recover her voice, the door opened again.
Shiro stepped through the threshold. He too had freshened up—and changed. His new white kimono, accented with bold splashes of red and contrasting with his dark hakama, were far closer to the clothes she had seen him wearing in Yumei’s memory from seven hundred years ago than his usual sleeveless kosode. He was no longer underdressed—and he looked regal and magnificent.
“Slower than the women, Inari,” a daitengu called. “Did you spend too long on your hair?”
Shiro casually raked his fingers through his perpetually tousled white locks. “Not as long as you spend preening your feathers.”
The daitengu snorted in disdain. As conversation resumed around her, Emi couldn’t take her eyes off Shiro. He circled the table, stopping briefly to speak with Yumei and Susano, then sat beside her.
She plucked playfully at his sleeve. “New clothes?”
He lifted one arm to peer at the long swath of fabric. “Uzume produced them from … somewhere. She’s disturbingly maternal.”
Uzume laughed. “In the past, Inari, you had an unfortunate habit of showing up covered in blood and gore and all manner of unpleasant substances that don’t belong on clothing. It was in my best interests to keep a spare set or two for you.”
The arrival of miko bearing platters of food spared him from responding. Dinner was a boisterous affair with much conversation, a fair amount of taunting—much of it between Shiro and the loud-mouthed daitengu—and a surprising dose of amusement and laughter. By the time the tables were cleared and the first drinks were poured, the banquet guests had split into smaller groups.
Immortal Fire (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 3) Page 23
