by Emiko Jean
Taro scowled.
Satoshi continued. “He’s a yōkai. My informants are looking more into him.”
Taro gripped the edge of his worktable. “What type of yōkai is he?”
“Nobody is sure. He’s not oni or . . .” Satoshi hesitated.
“How can we not know? Every yōkai is registered,” Taro said through clenched teeth, his fury growing at Satoshi’s ineptitude. He, the High Priest, above all others should know this yōkai’s location.
“We don’t know because he doesn’t have a collar.”
Taro blinked. “There is an uncollared yōkai in the Imperial City?” His father had wanted to post priests at the city walls, but Taro had dissuaded him. That’s a little excessive, don’t you think? he’d said. His father never listened to Taro. Why had he done so then?
“I’m afraid it gets worse. We have reason to believe that there may be more uncollared yōkai.” Satoshi paused, clearly debating what to say next. “I learned just last night. I didn’t want to overburden you on your wedding eve. We’ve been cleaning the Winter Room, collecting the girls’ bodies, restoring the ice on the pond, and we discovered that one of the competitors, Asami, was yōkai.” Taro waited for Satoshi to continue. “It may mean that more yōkai have infiltrated the palace under false pretenses. We should trust no one.” Satoshi’s eyes met Taro’s. “Not even the empress.”
Taro took a step forward. “Careful, Satoshi. Your next words may be your last.”
Satoshi held up his hands. Cobalt tattoos swirled in Taro’s vision. “Please, let me explain. Last night, Mari disappeared from the celebration.”
Taro’s lip turned up. “And where were you last night, Satoshi? You were gone for a time as well. Perhaps I should be questioning you.”
Satoshi’s face paled. “I—I would never . . . my father,” he stuttered.
“Now you see how it feels to be accused.” Taro’s eyes settled on Satoshi, impassive and firm. “My father spilled sake on her gown. She left to see to the stain and didn’t return because she felt unwell.” He lied about that last part. Why hadn’t she returned?
Satoshi met Taro’s gaze, jaw tightening. “But nobody else saw her, and then her servant—”
“Her servant what?” Taro couldn’t believe what Satoshi was implying. Rage coursed through him at the accusation.
“I think it may be best to hear it from her.” Satoshi strode from the room and returned with a small girl, a collar around her neck. A Hook Girl.
“Go on, tell him what you told me.”
The girl bowed low. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
“Stand up. You will look me in the eye when you speak. I will see your face as you betray your empress.”
“My lady—”
“Her Majesty,” Taro corrected.
The Hook Girl looked to Satoshi, a silent request for permission. He dipped his chin. She went on. “Her Majesty returned last evening near midnight. She seemed unsettled, and we had an unusual conversation.”
Taro took a deep breath. “Unusual how?”
“She told me of her mountain village.” Taro scoffed. Sei hurried on. “She explained how I might travel there by purchasing a guide. Days ago, she gave me these copper coins. She also said yōkai live there uncollared.” Sei breathed deep. “She also asked me what price I’d pay to be free.”
“And what did you reply?”
“I am a loyal servant.” Sei bowed her head. “I told her I was happy in my position.” The Hook Girl stopped, unwilling to say anything more. Taro didn’t want to hear more anyway.
Satoshi shoved the girl. “Go on, show him the note,” he commanded.
The girl let out a cry as the curses on Satoshi’s hands burned through her kimono. With trembling hands, the Hook Girl removed a piece of parchment from inside her sleeve. Satoshi snatched it and handed it to Taro. “I found this on her desk,” she explained. Taro recognized the stationery he’d gifted to Mari.
The emperor is dead.
Set all yōkai free, or the prince will be next.
Taro nodded, stoic mask in place. Note in hand, he strode from the workroom.
Satoshi chased after Taro. “Your Majesty, where are you going?’ he asked.
“To speak to my wife.” Taro quickened his pace, leaving Satoshi behind.
Throughout the last three days, it was as if time had ceased. In the Spring Room, when he had watched Mari draw first blood, when she had peered at him under her white wedding hood, when he’d grasped her hand and introduced her to his people as his princess, when he saw his father’s body, bruised and broken in the Fall Room . . . But he’d never felt the vertigo of infinity stretching before him as he did now.
The impossible had just become possible. His mind roiled with unanswered questions. How had Mari killed Asami, a powerful, uncollared yōkai? Could Mari be a yōkai in disguise as well? No, Taro thought. He’d been alone with her several times. She had every opportunity to harm him, and she never had. But perhaps that was because she was waiting, biding her time so that she could kill the emperor first. Mari might have betrayed him. He couldn’t fathom or stand the thought, and yet his doubt, like an insect, laid eggs and multiplied.
Chapter 39
Mari
The wisteria apartment had become a prison. Four samurai guarded her, by order of the emperor. She was not to leave her room.
“And what will you do if I try to leave? Run me through with your sword?”
The samurai’s expressions hardened. “Stay in your room, Your Majesty. It’s for your own safety,” one of them responded.
A new servant brought her a morning and an afternoon meal. She hadn’t seen Sei since their shared tea. She tried to question the new servant, but she would not speak. Mari’s thoughts became a hurricane of activity. Had the emperor ordered her to be imprisoned? Had he discovered she was yōkai? Had Taro?
Frustration grew to anger. Why hasn’t Taro come? He at least owed her a chance to explain her side of the story, a chance to tell the truth. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Perhaps Taro had already drawn his own conclusions.
The door slid open with a soft whoosh. Mari spun from the window where she was watching samurai pace the perimeter of the black sand garden. Taro entered, a dark, forbidding expression on his face.
She gripped her fists to keep them from trembling. “What’s going on? Why are guards posted outside? Why won’t they let me leave?”
“They were for your protection,” he clipped, a muscle ticking along his jaw.
Her pulse skipped a beat. “My protection?”
“Or perhaps they were for mine,” he murmured, laughing sardonically. “My father is dead.” He stared at her, studying her reaction.
Mari shook her head. What? She couldn’t make sense of his words. “How? I’m sorry, Taro.”
“Are you?”
He watched her again. Waited. For what? “Of course.” She crossed to him, tried to place a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away.
He took her place at the window and looked out, hands linked behind his back. “A yōkai dressed as a samurai killed my father. It seems this yōkai, this so-called Son of Nightmares, snuck into the palace and killed him in the Fall Room.”
Mari’s knees locked. That’s not true. It couldn’t be true. Akira had been in the Fall Room, but he’d left before she had. She was sure he’d fled the palace. Sure he was safe, somewhere in the Imperial City. Then again, she thought of Akira, how different, how much darker he seemed. Oh, Akira, what have you done? Concern for her friend eclipsed her questions. She imagined Akira, sealed in the Winter Room, blood slowly freezing in his veins.
“You’ve caught him, then?”
Taro shook his head in disgust. “No, it seems he is uncollared and therefore unregistered. But my samurai are combing the city for him now. It won’t be long before he is apprehended.”
Mari’s heart felt as if it were being cut slowly, with a dull knife. “What will you do when you find him?”
“You don’t mean that,” she pleaded.
“Mean that I will execute the yōkai who killed my father, avenge his death? I have never meant anything more.”
This Taro was a stranger. She did not know him. “You sound so cold.”
With a searing glance, he said, “And you sound concerned for a piece of yōkai scum. It makes me wonder why.”
Now she noticed the dangerous glint in Taro’s eyes, the hostility burning just below the surface. She started to back away. “You spoke once of regret for interning the yōkai, for making metal collars. Violence only begets more violence. We could stop this war between yōkai and humans.” Another way. You promised.
“That was before my father was murdered by a yōkai.” Tell him the truth. Tell him you are yōkai, that nobody is all good or all bad. Taro advanced, forcing Mari to retreat. “There’s more to what happened. Would you like to hear it?”
A piece of paper crumpled in Taro’s hand. She recognized the color, the calligraphy—her stationery. “What—”
“You killed my father,” Taro accused, voice dripping with venom.
Mari shook her head, hair whipping over her shoulder. “No.”
Taro scoffed. “Where were you last evening?” He looked at her like she was a stranger, unrecognizable. “Your servant said you returned to your apartment and were in disarray. You seemed upset. She said you spoke of freeing her, a yōkai, and of your home where yōkai live uncollared.” Sei, what have you done?
“I was in the Fall Room, but—”
“You admit it, then.”
“No. I was alone.” She shook her head. The night’s events seemed muddled. “I wasn’t alone.”
“Well, which is it? You were alone or you weren’t?”
“My friend . . . my friend . . . I told you I thought I saw someone I knew. I did, and we met in the Fall Room. It was the Son of Nightmares, but his name is Akira. And he isn’t capable of doing what you think he did. He wanted me to leave with him, to abandon you, but I couldn’t. He called me foolish. He thought you would hate me if you ever found out . . .” She paused.
“Found out what?” Taro’s teeth ground together.
The beast moved under her skin. “If you ever found out that I am yōkai.” Her voice broke. There. She’d said it. And it hurt only a little, seeing Taro flinch. As if a boulder were crushing her chest.
“No!” Taro’s roar shook the walls.
Her hands transformed into claws. Taro froze, horror-struck. Mari reached out helplessly, accidentally cutting his cheek with a razor-sharp talon. “No! I’m sorry.” Mari gasped.
Taro’s hand went to his cheek; blood smeared on his fingertips. The note fell from his grasp. Taro unsheathed his swords, pointing them at Mari’s throat. Her eyes grew wide, holding Taro’s burning gaze. “You will tell me the truth. Did you plot with the Son of Nightmares to kill my father?”
Hot tears ran down her face. Her claws retracted. “No.”
“You are lying. You plotted with him to get the emperor alone, and you killed my father in cold blood. Then you wrote a note boasting about what you had done.”
Mari swayed, then plucked the note from the floor. Her gut clenched. She choked out a sob. “This isn’t my handwriting. I didn’t write this.” Taro refused to look at her. He doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t want to believe me. “You ask for the truth, but you refuse to hear it.”
“All along, my instinct has been not to trust you. You’ve kept yourself hidden, and now I see why. Why would I believe you when every word that spills from your mouth is a lie?” The swords dropped from Mari’s neck.
Fear burned like an ember in her throat. “Don’t do this.”
“You have done this to yourself. You’ve played me for a fool.”
“Akira told me the yōkai are storming the castle. We have to run. You can’t stay here. They’re coming for you.”
Taro laughed spitefully. “You think I’m a fool?” His face settled into an impassive mask. “The time for explanations has passed. I cannot hear anymore. I loved you so . . .” He couldn’t finish. “Guards!” he shouted. Samurai swarmed into the room, swords drawn. “Take the empress,” Taro hissed, “to the Winter Room. See that she doesn’t escape.”
“Please—” Mari tried once more to reach him, to break through his anger. But Taro was immovable, his eyes turned to lifeless stones. Two samurai took hold of Mari’s arms, but she shrugged them off. “I will go,” she said quietly. She’d never felt such crushing shame. With as much dignity as she could muster, Mari let herself be taken to the Winter Room.
Chapter 40
Akira
Rough hands shook Akira awake. “Hurry,” Hanako said. “We don’t have much time. Imperial samurai have surrounded the clock tower.”
Ren stood behind Hanako, arms crossed over his massive chest, toe talons curling into the floorboards. The room was still and quiet, dark. “Go away,” Akira muttered, rolling over.
He’d stumbled back to the clock tower in the dead of night. He could have left the Imperial City, could have made his way home alone. But he couldn’t envision the journey without Mari. The clock tower had chimed, and he remembered the promise he’d made to the Snow Girl. What she had said in return. Our deal is part of the earth. If we break our promise to each other, gods and goddesses help us. Then, of course, there had been the thought that he could convince Hanako to save Mari. If she were foolish enough to stay. Those were his last thoughts before he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Get up, you lout. This is not a training drill. We have to go. Those damn geezers ratted us out. They even told the samurai of all my traps. We have no defenses. Our allies have abandoned us.”
Akira sat up, awake. “How many?”
Hanako shook her head. “I don’t know. I’d say a hundred. Is what they say true? Did you kill the emperor? Is the empress a yōkai?”
Akira’s heart jostled. Mari had been discovered. She wasn’t safe. “The emperor is dead?” he asked. He wiped sleep from his eyes. This wasn’t right. He’d passed the emperor on his way out. The man was three sheets to the wind but alive. Jovial, even. “What have you heard?”
Hanako’s excitement bubbled over. “It’s all over the city. You spoke the truth. Asami wasn’t the only yōkai entered in the competition. This yōkai won. Someone had the same plan as me. Geniuses think alike, you know?”
Akira grew desperate. He grabbed Hanako’s shoulders. “What’s happened to her?” he demanded.
Hanako’s gray eyes widened. “Gods and goddesses, everything makes sense now. She’s the reason you came to the Imperial City, isn’t she?” Akira let go of Hanako. His hands clenched. “You should have told me what you were up to. It seems we’ve had the same agenda all along. Why didn’t you confide in me?” She grew thoughtful. “If I find out you had something to do with Asami’s death, I’ll eviscerate you myself.”
Akira shook his head and started pacing the length of the room. Nothing made sense. “I didn’t kill Asami. I told you the truth. She slipped into the pond. Mari is innocent in her death as well.”
“Mari? That’s her name? Mari the Emperor Slayer,” Hanako said in awe.
Akira’s frown deepened. “You revel in someone’s death.”
Hanako sneered. Her collar glinted in the moonlight, and her ferret curled around her neck. “I revel in the death of a madman who has enslaved our people.”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs.
“What will happen to her?” Akira asked again.
Hanako looked solemn. “If the prince is like his father, he probably put her in the Winter Room.”
A lump rose in his throat. Mari has nine lives—she must be alive. “I have to go after her.” He pushed toward the door.
Ren clicked.
Hanako grabbed Akira’s arm. “Didn’t you hear me say samurai are storming the building?”
; Akira hesitated. “I don’t suppose you have a hidden escape hatch somewhere.”
“I never had the time to install one.” Hanako shrugged.
“Then we fight,” Akira said, reaching for his throwing stars. He would cut through the samurai, all the way to Mari.
Hanako rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. One hundred against three? Hardly a fair fight . . . for them, of course.”
The footfalls stopped just outside the door. A fist pounded so hard, the walls rattled. “Surrender now, and the emperor will be lenient,” a voice boomed.
“And by ‘lenient,’ he means chopping off our heads instead of slowly torturing us,” Hanako whispered, using a see-through hand to draw a line across her throat.
“Surrender!” the voice bellowed. Something rocked the door, a battering ram. Bits of wood splintered from the door frame.
“What do we say to surrender?” Hanako asked Akira.
Ren clicked. Akira blinked once. He had no idea.
“That’s right,” she said. “No, we always say no. Ren, the ibushi-ki.” She thrust out a hand to the demon. Ren lifted a small ceramic pot with holes drilled along the sides. An acrid smell wafted from it. Akira recognized the scent. Explosive powder. A fuse was placed in one of the holes. Once lit, smoke would fill the room. Akira took a wobbly breath.
Large shifted on Hanako’s neck. Something was clamped between his teeth—a length of fireworks wrapped in white paper. The ferret scampered down Hanako’s body. Ren struck a match against his teeth and lit the firecrackers’ and the smoke pot’s fuses. Hanako shattered the glass of the clock with her elbow.
The battering ram wracked the door again. This time the wood splintered. Ren slid the smoke bomb to the middle of the room. The ferret squeezed under the door, firecrackers trailing behind him. Akira watched all of this in a daze. All he knew was that he wanted to fight, not just for Mari, but for Hanako, for Ren. His friends.
Hanako grabbed two ropes that dangled just outside the window. “My original escape plan was just for two. We’re going to have to make do!” she yelled. Smoke began to fill the room. A loud popping noise sounded outside the door.
