Not these young fools standing before him with their glittering weapons and radiant silks. These fools for whom power had only ever been absolute. No. Never them.
But the people Ōkami loved. The people whose laughter had wormed its way into his soul. They were the ones who inspired his loyalty, no matter the reason or the cost. It was something Yoshi had always said, when Ōkami had questioned why the wizened samurai had wasted years of his life in service to a young rōnin, fixing eggs for a spoiled little boy.
Loving someone is to lose control, Yoshi had said with a fond smile. And I promised to love you always, as I loved Shingen-sama, my loyal brother in arms.
Yoshi. His father’s faithful samurai and confidant, who had been by their sides following the disappearance of Takeda Shingen’s wife in a storm at sea. The man who had sheltered Ōkami as a lost, lonely boy. The man who had kept him safe, even when Ōkami had wished him away.
And Tsuneoki. His dearest friend. A boy racked with the guilt of his father’s betrayal. One that had resulted in the death of Takeda Shingen, by his own hand. Ōkami had wished Tsuneoki away, too, when they were younger. Asano Naganori’s son had been a constant reminder of what Ōkami had lost. But Tsuneoki had never once faltered in his loyalty. Even when Ōkami had agreed to grant a dangerous demon a foothold in the mortal world in order to gain his power, his oldest friend had followed suit soon after, without hesitation. He’d taken a blade of black rock and made his own blood oath with a nightbeast. Just as he had when Ōkami had opted for a rootless existence, living nowhere and everywhere.
Where you lead, I follow, Tsuneoki had said. I am not afraid of the unknown. If you can do it, so can I.
And Mariko.
Hattori Mariko was the worst offender. She’d given Ōkami a reason to wish for things he’d never dreamed of having. To put everything at risk, just for a moment together beneath a blanket of mist, watching the way the water slid down her skin. He’d cursed her for it, time and again. That first long night he’d lain awake in captivity, he’d turned his eyes toward the stars, knowing he could escape if he tried, and knowing what might become of Mariko—and his men—should he even attempt to do so.
He’d cursed her then, too. Even though his every waking dream had been about her. Even when the scent of passing orange blossoms had made him smile.
Ōkami knew this treacherous would-be emperor wished to use his supposed weaknesses against him. He’d expected Roku to do as much. To tarnish everything Ōkami loved with this poison, then use his fear in an attempt to control him.
He’d been prepared for this.
Nevertheless, it did not dull the sharpness of the sniveling emperor’s words, nor the barbed statements of his watchdog brother, to have it put to practice.
The light was still too far.
Ōkami’s chains were too short. Too heavy.
And that girl. That ridiculous girl, who pursed her lips in thought and wore her intellect like a mark of honor. Who—despite a world that conspired against her—was far more ingenious than any of the men Ōkami had ever known.
He would not risk Mariko.
Not for every night sky in the world. Not even for a single star.
“It should not take much to sway the heart of a simple girl.” Roku’s venom bled into Ōkami’s mind the moment he surfaced for air. “Women are fickle creatures, willing to smile at any listening ear. The only woman a man can trust is the woman who gave birth to him, and even then, I would advise caution at all times.” His brow furrowed for a moment, then smoothed with the dawning of another smile.
It was the smile that gave Roku away. In it, Ōkami caught a glimpse of annoyance. Save for his mother, it was likely that women had been dismissive of Roku for most of his short life. Ōkami could well see how the young ladies of the imperial court had looked upon the crown prince. Smaller and less fearsome than his handsome elder brother. Second choice in all things, save the one he did not earn—his birthright.
This was Roku’s twisted truth.
“It is possible Lady Mariko harbored fond feelings for you,” Roku continued.
“Only after you surrendered did she step forward. Or perhaps it wasn’t you that drove her from the safety of the shadows. Was her heart moved by the son of Asano Naganori? My father mentioned that Naganori had a way with women.”
Ridiculous. In all respects. Yet it burned to hear this boy say it.
Ōkami began laughing. He started softly, then let his laughter rise into a low rumble. When he glanced at the emperor, his laughter died on his swollen lips, a new realization rendering his truth in starker colors. It startled him. Sobered him.
For it was like looking in a mirror.
“Is this the best you can do, Minamoto Roku?” Ōkami stood suddenly, his pulse hurtling through his veins. “You must be very afraid. Your weakness is courage, is it not?” He moved the single step forward his bindings would allow him. “Is that what you’re afraid of? To be betrayed, as your father was before you?” Ōkami’s voice reverberated against the iron bars. “Do you fear you might die as he did?” He paused, letting his words fade to a whisper. “Or maybe you’re afraid I might break free of these chains and finish what my father started.” For emphasis, he yanked on the metal links binding his wrists and feet, the sounds clanging through the dark.
As expected, the boorish watchdog at the emperor’s side brandished his katana once more, his features contorted with anger.
“There it is,” Roku said softly. “It was worth letting you into my mind if it meant giving me a chance to peer into yours.”
Ōkami lifted his chin, his eyes wide as he cursed the far-off light.
“Loyalty,” Roku said.
The blood drained slowly from Ōkami’s face, collecting behind his heart, his pulse drumming in his ears. He stilled further.
It appeared Roku had glimpsed the same truth Ōkami had.
For fear was the greatest of equalizers, save for death itself.
The emperor spoke once more. “So fitting. I should have seen it from the start. Your father died for his lack of loyalty. Of course it would be your burden now.” Satisfaction passed over his vulpine features.
Ōkami cursed himself in the same breath he cursed his tormentors.
“Now that we are at last on equal footing, shall we begin?” Roku gestured behind him, beckoning to the figure in the shadows.
Stumbling at the entrance of the cell, the strange thin man made his way toward Ōkami, the wooden box clasped tightly before him. When Raiden and the four imperial guards moved to restrain Ōkami against the wall, Ōkami responded instinctively. The reaction of a boy who’d sworn never to appear weak—never to show his fear—no matter the cost. Who’d promised the heavens he would not lose himself to a lesser man, as his father had.
Ōkami shoved into Raiden’s chest with his shoulder, then slammed his forehead into the prince’s face. Raiden grunted in pain as he recoiled, then took hold of Ōkami’s throat, the hardened leather of his gauntlet digging into Ōkami’s skin. His teeth bared in fury, the prince smashed Ōkami’s face twice against the stone wall. An imperial guard landed a well-timed blow in the center of Ōkami’s chest. Another to his gut. With a gasp, Ōkami doubled over and spat a mouthful of blood in the filthy straw, his ears ringing and his vision swimming. Blood trickled past the tip of his nose from a wound splitting across his brow.
“Enough!” Roku’s reedy voice spiked into the rafters. For an instant, Ōkami thought the emperor might succumb to the rage simmering beneath the surface. Then Roku sighed, long and loudly. “Brother, you—and your cursed temper—have ruined my plans for our prisoner’s punishment.”
His fingers still wrapped around Ōkami’s throat, Raiden glanced over his shoulder toward his younger brother, his eyebrows raised in question.
“His forehead is cracked and bleeding.” Roku inhaled, his eyes closing for a moment, steeling himself once more. “His face is a mess.”
Only a breath passed before Ōkami understood the emperor’s meaning. Realized what lay in the skeletal man’s iron-bound trunk.
Insult. Upon injury.
Gritting his teeth, he marshaled his fury. Silenced his fears.
Ōkami would need all his wits about him for what was to come.