“Yes.”

Ōkami inhaled through his nose. “I am glad to hear it.”

“He—” Mariko looked through a fringe of lashes to meet his gaze. “Raiden has been strangely kind to me.”

Ōkami’s brows shot up. “Though I cannot fathom the possibility, perhaps there’s hope for him yet.”

“Perhaps.” Mariko smiled wistfully into the darkness. “Why does this feel so odd?” she asked. “Why do I feel so … at a loss?”

“It feels odd to me because everything I want to say—everything I want to do—seems impossible.”

Frustration took hold around her heart. “Is it because I am married?”

“I don’t give a damn about you being married.”

“Oh,” Mariko said again. The feeling in his voice—the way the words rasped from his throat with such conviction—unmoored her. “Is it because I must lie about owing loyalty to the family of Minamoto Roku?”

“You owe no man anything, Mariko.”

“Especially not a man such as he.” Mariko scowled. “Regardless, I will never be one of those ladies at court who worships a man.”

“No matter the man?” Ōkami joked. “Even if he worshipped you?”

“No,” Mariko said. “Not even for you.”

Ōkami grinned. They fell to silence. Not a searching kind of silence, but a silence filled with many things that could not be said. Things that would only cause them both pain. Dreams that might never come to pass. A part of Mariko wished she could simply run away with Ōkami now. This moment. Turn her back on everyone and everything, to start a new life with the boy she loved.

But the things she’d done—all that she’d fought for and experienced—had proven to her that life was about more than this. More than love. A life absent purpose was not a life Mariko wished to live. Even if she perished while trying to help the Black Clan—even if she lost Ōkami in the process—they both needed to continue this fight.

“I should go,” Mariko said. “Tsuneoki still needs to give me the message, and if I am gone too long from court, I will be missed.”

Ōkami said nothing. He ran a hand through his unbound hair, and the familiarity of the motion sent a twinge through Mariko’s chest. Then he met her gaze once more.

“Thank you for saving me, Mariko.”

A tentative grin touched her lips. “Thank you for letting yourself be saved.”

“I am glad I was able to see you tonight,” he said softly.

Something knifed next to her heart. “As am I.” With that, Mariko gathered the silken folds of her kimono and made her way toward the sliding doors.

It had been such a strange interaction. So unlike the ease of all their times together in the past. Never before had there been so much feeling between them and no way to express it.

No. That’s not true.

Mariko turned back. “I love you. Never forget that.” With that, she reached for the sliding door.

Ōkami caught her hand. When she met his gaze, he refused to look away. He threaded his fingers through hers. Pulled her close, his eyes gentle, his expression fierce. Then—as if he could not resist—he stroked a thumb along her jaw.

Mariko melted against him. Felt her body mold to his. She’d heard before that foolish people were burned when they toyed with fire. Perhaps Mariko was a fool who did not care about being burned. For just this moment, she wanted to be consumed in this delicious pain. She leaned into his caress. But she didn’t dare touch him herself. If she did, Mariko knew there would be no way to let go.

“Will you do something for me?” Ōkami asked.

She looked up. Nodded as one of his hands settled on the side of her face.

“I want to hear you call me by my given name,” he said. “Just once.”

Mariko’s eyes drifted to the exposed skin of his neck. To the horrible brand inked into its side. Then back up to his scarred lips.

Loyalty.

“I love you, Takeda Ranmaru.”

Ōkami smiled. Pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then the tip of her nose. Then the underside of her chin. Mariko gasped at how gently he moved.

“Right now, I cannot love you as I want,” he whispered against her skin. “So let me worship you for a breath of time.”

Mariko closed her eyes. Her hands trembled.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said.

“No,” Mariko breathed. She felt his fingertips drag along the collar of her kimono. He brushed aside the fabric to reveal the hollow at her throat. When he kissed her there—again so softly—Mariko’s fingers turned into fists. In that moment, she could not think of anything she wanted more than to touch him.

He let the back of his hand skim over the layers of fabric gathered at Mariko’s waist. Then he knelt at her feet and took hold of her ankle, exposing the skin of her leg. Ōkami pressed another kiss on the inside of her knee.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” His voice slid over her like silk.

Mariko opened her eyes. She knew she should tell him to stop. Knew that she’d already allowed things to progress too far. She had important things to do. Tasks that required her utmost focus. She could not afford this distraction. If she did not leave Hanami soon, Raiden might discover her duplicity.

“No,” Mariko said quietly. Clearly. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Just this once.

Ōkami kissed higher. The feeling of his lips on her thigh sent a frisson of warmth through her body. A delicious shiver curled up her spine.

“Never worship any man, Hattori Mariko.” Ōkami steadied her. “But always be worshipped.” When he moved again, time slowed to a stutter, then sped forward in a rush.

Mariko closed her eyes and tangled her fingers in his hair. “Yes.”

The First to Die

The heavenly sovereign of Wa sat on the Chrysanthemum Throne beneath a silken canopy, his eyes bloodshot, his face wan. Even deep within the walls of the Golden Castle, the wails at the gates could still be heard.

The pleas.

The cries for pity.

Yesterday one of the barriers protecting the center of Inako had been breached. In the aftermath, the main thoroughfare of Hanami had been ransacked. Many imperial guards had been sacrificed trying to secure the district. Though they’d been successful, the truth of their predicament had become inescapable to those within the walls of Heian Castle: their city was being rampaged by looters who moved about without signs of feeling, like the walking dead. Some had begun to say they were cursed. That a demon had overtaken them. The same demon that had plagued the people of the eastern domains for the last few weeks.

And now these creatures were days—perhaps even hours—from storming the castle gates.

“My sovereign,” pleaded one of the emperor’s most senior advisors—a man who had served the late emperor for the entirety of his reign. “We must do something. I have been forbidden from leaving the castle grounds. The last message I received from my family was two days ago. I do not know if they are safe.”

Another advisor to the emperor—one whose daughter had been all but tossed from court the night of the dowager empress’s death—continued. “We cannot let the people’s pleas go unanswered, my sovereign.” His attempts to impart sympathy into his tone were weak at best.

“Then you go out there and help them, Lord Shimazu,” Roku said coldly. “They say a plague has ravaged the minds of the looters, and you wish me to add to their ranks by sending my imperial guards into the city?” He stood. “Will you be the one to guard me then? Will you offer your life in exchange for mine?”

Lord Shimazu bowed low, his face draining of color. His pride had undoubtedly been wounded by his daughter’s expulsion from court, but he knew better than to continue challenging the emperor.

Raiden watched the scene unfold with a look of supreme detachment. Beneath the surface, unease coiled through his stomach. But there was little he could do. It had been enough for him to persuade Roku to hold an audience with his advisors, who’d been imploring Raiden for the last five days to do something. Anything.

Following the death of his mother, Roku had retreated to his rooms. He’d become even more paranoid, insisting that his food be tested by five people before he would even consider letting it touch his lips. The only times he called for Raiden were the moments he wished to rail at someone.