The elder samurai drew himself to his full height. “If you do not trust me after all my years of service to your family, my lord, then I am truly dead already.”
Frustrated by the tenor of their conversation, Kanako decided to step forward. She’d tried to press Kenshin to do her bidding—gentle nudges on his thoughts—but his mind was stronger than before. Far less pliant. His renewed resolve irritated her greatly. The sight of his trapped beloved should have made his mind even more open to infiltration. Not less. He should be willing to do whatever it took to free Muramasa Amaya, without question. Perhaps Nobutada’s assertions had not worn Kenshin down as she’d hoped. Perhaps they’d only made him more resilient.
It was time for Kanako to take direct action.
She let her mind fade into nothingness, then barreled into Kenshin’s thoughts without warning. As she searched for the best way to wrest control, she paused to take in the full tumult there.
So many sources of discord. So many sources of heartache.
Kanako latched onto the thing causing him the most pain. Now was the time to use the memory of the girl he loved. Of Amaya, trapped within the enchanted oak.
“The demons of the forest wish for a reckoning, Lord Kenshin,” she whispered into his thoughts, her voice an indistinct growl. “Bring the spirit of the silver oak the head of the new emperor, and it will relinquish the girl you love from its grasp.”
Kenshin’s mind twitched. It pushed back with far more force than it ever had before. Frustratingly strange. Kanako surged on, taking root in his weaknesses, turning the spark of discord into a flame. She let the rising plume cloud the rest of his mind, like smoke in the sun.
With a groan, Kenshin gave in, his eyes turning white, his mouth hanging open in a soundless scream.
When he returned to himself, Kenshin did not appear to be addled by drink any longer. He looked focused and aware. Without a word, he turned on a heel and left the colorless maru, blood trickling from his eyes.
Once the Dragon of Kai left this world between worlds, Kanako let her magic glimmer over her fox body. It flowed through her, like the tremors of an earthquake beneath the soil. She uncoiled to her feet in a ripple of grace, letting her long hair stream behind her in a silken cloak.
She glanced at Nobutada. She’d known for days that the wearied samurai was losing his sense of conviction. The lies he was forced to tell the son of his daimyō had taxed him. The grief in his eyes was apparent. Kanako moved closer to the wizened samurai. His shoulders fell in her presence.
“You are troubled by what must be done,” she said in a soothing voice.
“After the death of the former emperor, I am not certain why I am still here. What purpose am I meant to serve now, my lady? Why do I remain here when our sovereign has passed into the next world? How am I to serve his sons by spreading these lies?”
Kanako inclined her head sympathetically. “You are meant to serve my family. To serve the new emperor, as well as my son. That is your vow. Your way, as a warrior.”
The samurai’s features lost a measure of their severity. Then they began to wilt even more. Until the edges of his lips were downturned in defeat.
Kanako took in a steadying breath. Her resulting smile was one of peace.
“I wish to thank you, Nobutada-sama,” she began.
He nodded once, the resignation plain on his face. As though he’d known for far too long that he’d been played for a fool.
She continued. “I know how difficult it was for you to turn your loyalties away from your daimyō in service to your emperor, but the circumstances could not be avoided. We must continue to do all that is possible to defend the empire and the family at the heart of it. Especially after our last emperor was murdered in his own garden—within the walls of his own castle—we know there is no one who can be trusted. And this includes your lord, Hattori Kano.”
Again the samurai nodded.
But Kanako knew too well that her words were no longer taking root. His mind was no longer the malleable thing she’d first sought out with her powers. The strength of her magic had faded rapidly of late, and she’d had to expend far more of it on Hattori Kenshin than she first thought.
Kanako leveled her gaze. “I apologize, Nobutada-sama. For this and for so much else.”
Even before the words left Kanako’s lips, she pushed her magic outward in a blunt blow to his chest. He gasped as the air left his throat, and his body flew back, tossed about like a sack of rice.
This was inelegant, but necessary.
Kanako needed pliant minds. Minds lacking conviction. Lacking focus. Minds like that of the last emperor. Like those of the Akechi clan and the Yoshida clan. It was true that the lord of the Sugiura clan had been more difficult to contain, but even he fell in the end. She needed a mind like Kenshin’s the day in the clearing beside the watering hole. When he’d killed for her without question.
Nobutada could no longer be trusted.
It took too much of Kanako’s power to turn a resistant mind. Made it difficult to do anything else. Made her weak. This was the second such mind she’d been forced to turn tonight. But Kanako could safely stay in this colorless world until her strength was restored. She did not wish to kill Nobutada. Not yet. It would be a loss to them all if the empire no longer had such a fine warrior serving its cause.
So she used all of her remaining strength to take apart Nobutada’s mind. To dismantle every last form of resistance found within. The claws of her fox form drove into his chest, tearing through his heart, raking over his mind. It was not as difficult as it had been with Asano Tsuneoki that night at the Akechi fortress. The boy had his own power. And it had forced her out before she could wrest firm control. But she’d still found something of use there, buried beneath his convictions.
Men with convictions bored her most of all.
Kanako tore through Nobutada’s mind until there was nothing left. Then she reached back into herself, seeking her center, returning to her human form.
She could not stand at first. She fell to her knees, gasping for air.
A part of her worried she spread herself too thin. Those long nights overtaking so many minds in the eastern reaches of the empire had taken a heavy toll. The tiny mirrors along the hedge of the colorless world began to shimmer as though a gust of wind had raked across their surfaces. As they shimmered, they took to the air, their shapes like that of otherworldly butterflies. They blossomed and burst into hollowed husks of human beings. Like shadow selves.
All around her, Kanako saw the true souls of the minds she’d stolen from the people of Wa. The ones in constant agony, as they awaited an unforeseen fate. Kanako struggled to her feet, her sight lost as she gulped for breath. She fought for something to grasp. Something with which to pull herself up.
She’d spent years of her life quietly absorbing ridicule. Quietly enduring mistreatment by the ladies of court who followed that hag of an empress like ducklings across a pond. She said nothing as they demeaned her. Done nothing, save nurture her hate in cold silence.
But Kanako had witnessed what the empress Yamoto Genmei had done that night beside the moon-viewing pavilion. How she’d murdered the emperor to secure her own position and that of the crown prince. Kanako would continue splitting what remained of her power—until it was whittled down to nothing—if it meant she could destroy that woman and do away with Genmei’s power-hungry son.
If it meant Kanako could see her beautiful Raiden sit on the Chrysanthemum Throne, there was no cost too high to pay.
Nobutada stood, his eyes wild, and his mouth ajar. If he could make sounds at all, Kanako knew they would be sounds of terror. Of loss. She waited while his true soul rose from his body, turned into a silver butterfly, and settled itself in the hedge, its wings a twinkling mirror of dark and light.
A Broken Smile
Mariko stood in a circle of pastel flowers, smiling as the ladies of the court fawned over her. Whispered about her upcoming nuptials. Wondered aloud at how lucky she was to be joining the ranks of the imperial family.
“I’ve heard that Prince Raiden is the best rider in the yabusame,” one girl began as she strolled past a flowering hedge in the most vibrant part of the imperial gardens.
Another laughed. “And the most handsome.”
“I care not a whit for his looks,” a third young woman announced. “He is wealthy and strong, which are all the things that matter to me in a husband.”